The Anathema's Harbinger
by Forbidden Amber
Summary: Humanity is being crushed by the Covenant, but one Sangheili finds himself questioning the prophesies. Can a risky attempt at saving a young girl by turning her into a Covenant zealot lead to victory, or will it result in his execution and warp her mind?
1. A Cross Race Reconciliation

**Covenant Writ of Holy Desecration, Vantok III**

_They are the Depraved Ones _

_Sinful, corrupt, immoral_

_They are the Shadow opposing our Light _

_Errant, wicked, iniquitous_

_They are the Abhorred… _

_Redemption is beyond their grasp_

_Their crimson blood shall stain the ground_

_Winning the war will become the key_

_Drench their lands with ruby success… _

_For red is the color of victory_

_The war shall bring forth despair_

_Though faith braces the weak_

_Hold tight your bloodstained blade… _

_And find the satisfaction you seek_

_Be strengthened by your rage_

_For their fall is vital to the Quest _

_We must bring their destruction to pass…_

_To allow us our ultimate test_

_They are the Abhorred…_

_Redemption is beyond their grasp_

_- The Prophet of Truth,_

_Second Age of Exposition_

**Chapter One**

**A Cross-Race Reconciliation**

**1900 Hours, March 17, 2530 (Military Calendar) / Outer Colonies, Human Residential Compound.**

Screams and cries of despair rang throughout the chaotic halls of the expansive Human orbital residential station as the merciless Sangheili warriors pounded across the floors, killing any humans in sight. Countless squads spread through the many levels, combing through each room and every apartment, exploring all of the branching hallways, searching for some way to quench their unending thirst for the red blood of Humans. Fires burned and rubble sizzled, glass shattered and plasma rifles whined, bones cracked and blood curdled for seemingly ages. No one was safe from the Covenant onslaught – elders fell, children ran, and babies cried. The Human men tried feebly to protect their once-peaceful homes and families, but were easily swatted down like flies by either plasma burns or several bone-crunching blows by the immensely powerful Sangheili's fists, each death bringing an evil smile to the Covenant's five-jawed mouths.

It was glorious!

Every scream of pain, every drop of Human blood that fell to the floor brought the Covenant that much closer to their goal, that much closer to the Coming of the Great Journey. Planet by planet, the Humans were becoming extinct at the hands of the Covenant, just as the Prophesy had predicted. It was wonderful…

A strange monotonous boredom droned in one Sangheili's mind as he poured several well-aimed plasma shots into a cringing six-year-old girl, listening to the all-too-familiar sound as her high-pitched scream reached his ears and her diminutive figure crumpled lifeless against the gray metal wall. This warrior's name was X'rafe Mhar'laknee, a Fieldmaster of the Covenant ranks, though at the moment, his position as commander presented little authority over his crusading Sangheili. Nearly all of his soldiers had split up and spread through the installation, following a very slipshod search plan that had been issued not long before the attack. Mhar'laknee didn't care about their disorganization in the slightest at the moment, however. This Human station was purely residential, so none of his Sangheili warriors were in any true danger. Any kind of planning or organization on his part would have been a sore waste of breath and energy. He had decided to let them roam free and pursue their own prey while he did likewise on his own path.

Mhar'laknee jogged over to the little girl's motionless body, gave it a hard kick, and then continued on his way down the corridor, checking the battery life on his plasma rifle nonchalantly as he walked.

A gray door snapped shut not too far in front of him, and he could smell the sweat of the room's occupant even from where he was standing. He strode to the door and tested its handle. Locked, of course. The Sangheili took several large steps backwards and launched himself forward, and his shoulder collided with the cold barricade with a hollow bang. The rewarding collapse of the doorframe let his momentum pour through into the room, and he nearly tripped over the fallen door as he stumbled to regain his balance.

Looking around, he saw that the room was dark; his victim had surely turned off the lights to make it seem as though the apartment was empty. Mhar'laknee knew better, however. He could hear the Human's breathing coming from the inside of a closet on the opposite wall.

Chuckling softly at the Human's fear, the Sangheili crossed the shadowy room and stepped up the closet, squeezing his plasma rifle in anticipation. He grabbed a hold of the sliding door's handle and promptly pulled it right out of its hinges, revealing a cowering young female in her teenage years. She flinched and flattened herself in the corner at the sudden noise, gazing up at the terrifying alien before with bulging, fear-filled eyes.

Mhar'laknee pointed his rifle at her face, and she buried her head in her knees, muttering something that might have been a prayer. Less than a second later, the plasma rifle's trigger clicked, plasma hissed through the air, and the back wall of the dark closet was spattered with crimson Human blood. She cried in pain, but she was soon silenced as another blotch of sizzling plasma hit her face, and she fell limp like jelly.

Dead. One less human in the universe.

Mhar'laknee shoved the closet door roughly back into its place, shutting away the now grossly disfigured and scorched body of his victim. The stench of burning flesh floated his nose, but he ignored it; he was used to it. It was the smell of triumph.

The Sangheili stood in place for another moment before leaving the apartment. His eyes had now adjusted to the dim light, so he examined his surroundings, strangely captivated by the innocence of the humble dwelling.

It was small, much too small to possibly be considered an abode by the Covenant's housing standards, but for some reason, it seemed comfortable and warm despite its miniscule size. An oak wood table sat near what Mhar'laknee assumed to be the room where they prepared food; or a "kitchen", if his English served correctly. Wicker chairs lined four places at the table, and four completely bare plates and sets of silverware rested upon its smooth surface. This family must have been preparing for a meal before the attack.

He silently walked into the kitchen. An odd smell – besides the already present odor of the Human's body – wafted into his nose and he looked around for its source, finally discovering a pot simmering upon the stove. He lifted the lid and peered over its edge, and found that a thick soupy substance was cooking inside. He regarded it warily, knowing all too well some of the unfavorable feeding protocols these Humans practiced; practices that would be considered quite unsanitary by Sangheili standards. After a moment's contemplation, he put the lid back on and averted his attention to other objects in the room.

Intricate crystal figurines stood upon several nearby shelves, and their gleam caught the Sangheili's eye. He reached for one, captivated by its shine, and pulled it close to his face to get a better look. It was a statuette of an animal, but it was no animal that he recognized. It had four thin, hoofed legs and a long neck that made up almost half of its height. It was certainly a bizarre creature, almost fantastical in appearance, but the ornament was so elaborate, so delicate; it was… beautiful.

Mhar'laknee returned it to its original place back on the shelf and pulled another figurine into his hands, wondering at his own sudden appreciation for Human craftsmanship. This second statuette was of equal intricacy, and it shined in the little light provided by the room. He was about to examine it further when a sudden voice coming from the entrance door startled him.

"Fieldmaster," the deep Sangheili voice called.

Mhar'laknee jumped and dropped the figurine, flinching as it smashed into a million tiny glass fragments onto the tile floor. He watched its destruction with an odd, momentary bereavement and felt almost sad, though he wasn't sure why. The figurine had been crafted by _Humans_, the Devil race, the Covenant's inferior adversary, the _Abhorred_ _Ones_. So why were they so enchanting?

The Fieldmaster swallowed and turned to look at the underling addressing him. He immediately recognized the Sangheili as Seraia Vak'tomee, an old friend whom he had fought countless battles with over his years. "What is it?" he groused.

"The warriors have nearly swept through the entire compound, Excellency. The self-defense machinery and automatic protocols have been disabled. All that is left to do is clean up the few stragglers that managed to slip by unharmed…" the Sangheili veteran replied, his red armor glinting in the artificial light spilling from the hall. "We've won, Excellency."

Mhar'laknee let these words ring through his mind for a few seconds. They'd won… there was one less Human station left to fight, thousands fewer Humans left alive. The Coming of the Great Journey was drawing closer ever so steadily, and the extinction of the Devil race was approaching just as quickly.

So why did he feel so hollow inside? Was it pity?

He thought back to the time so many years before when he was still just an underling warrior with little experience, and remembered the satisfactory feeling he got when he beat down a human with his bare hands. So proud, so arrogant… why was that feeling gone?

Mhar'laknee looked away from the veteran and glanced once again to the shimmering remains of the glass figurine, and was reminded of the Humans. Humans were fragile; the statuette was fragile. The statuette had been shattered by Covenant hands, and all that was left was a pile of sharp fragments and glass dust – just like what the Human race soon would become.

The Fieldmaster furrowed his brow in thought. Shards of glass were still sharp, even if the original sculpture was broken.

He shook his head slightly, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. Now was not the time to think about such things. He reached once more to pick up the first figurine from the shelf and held it in his hands tightly, then turned around to face the Sangheili warrior.

"Is something wrong, Excellency?" Vak'tomee asked, wondering why he had not yet received a response from his superior.

"Tell me, Underling, what do you see when you look at this figurine?" the Fieldmaster questioned, holding the ornament up for him to see.

The Sangheili cocked his head slightly. "I see a shoddy piece of Human filth," he responded obediently. "An embellishment deserving only to be put to flame, like all of the Devilwork around us."

"Truly? Odd, for that is not what I see," Mhar'laknee said, not removing his gaze the object in his hands.

"Might I inquire as to what you see, Excellency?"

Mhar'laknee hesitated, wondering how to describe his strange recent thoughts. "I see the magnificent handiwork of a dying race," he said finally. "A race that is perhaps more important to our advancement than we know or want to acknowledge. Perhaps they were not put in this universe only to be our enemies… and perhaps it is foolish of us to destroy them, for a shattered pane of glass can still cut flesh."

Vak'tomee paused, pondering the Fieldmaster's declaration. "Beware, Fieldmaster, for you seem to be treading perilously close to heresy with your words."

"Heresy? You would accuse _me_ of heresy?" Mhar'laknee asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the statue and locking his eyes with his friend's and drawing a quiet sigh. "Perhaps it is heresy, but accusing me of such a crime would only hinder the Covenant's progression. I can assure you, Underling, that I am no heretic, no matter how you regard my statements or actions. I have devoted my life to fighting for our Covenant, and I shall continue to do so until the grave. I simply wonder at the effectiveness of our actions… and I wonder if they should be changed, for the benefit of the Journey, of course."

"You question our war with the Devil race? Why?"

"The Prophesy spoke of a great challenge that the Covenant will have to overcome," Mhar'laknee explained. "A great opponent, a strong foe which must fall at our feet before the Great Journey can begin. But these Humans… they are being defeated too easily. They simply don't seem like the overwhelming opponent that the Prophesy described, and that that leaves me to ponder whether some other race may come into play…" the Fieldmaster trailed off in deep thought, perturbed by his own paranoia. "Regardless," he said boldly, "I will follow the Prophet's commands without question, wherever they lead me, war or otherwise."

The Sangheili veteran stood speechless, trying to decide whether even giving his friend's words a second thought would be heresy. "Perhaps there is some merit in your words," he said finally. "Though there is no way to be certain."

"I know," Mhar'laknee grumbled, taking several steps forward. "So let us forget about this nonsense, we're not finished here yet. What remains to be done?"

"The hallway next over from the one we are currently located in has yet to be searched for Human activity. Several individual Humans are apparently loitering about the marketplace several flights down, and a few warriors are needed to get rid of them."

"You take care of it," the Fieldmaster commanded. "I'll go clean out that hallway you mentioned."

"As you wish, Fieldmaster," Vak'tomee said, bowing his head in respect. "I shall see you again when we return to High Charity. May fortune smile upon you, friend."

"And to you," Mhar'laknee returned with a nod.

Vak'tomee's left mandibles twitched; the equivalent of an amiable smile of recognition. Mhar'laknee dittoed the gesture, and then walked through the door into the hallway and the two Sangheili went opposite directions.

Mhar'laknee squeezed the glass figurine that was still in his hand as he walked, wondering why the object spoke to him the way it did. For some inexplicable reason, he could not bear the thought of putting the statuette to the torch; he couldn't bear the idea of destroying it with the rest of the station. He wanted to keep it close to him, keep it safe, to forget that it was Devil-made, forget that he had already shattered everything else…

He was weary of the slaughter for the first time in all of his service to the Covenant. He just wanted the death to stop, and forget about the hundreds of Human's blood that stained his hands. It felt almost as if he had a debt to them, like he was obligated to repay them somehow for all the lives that he had taken.

A shrill giggle pulled the Fieldmaster from his thoughts, and he immediately raised his rifle and looked around for the source of the noise. Of the many doors that lined the hall, one of them just a few paces in front of him was open, and Mhar'laknee could see shadow pouring from the doorframe. The laugh had most assuredly come from that room, though he boldly holstered his rifle before entering it.

The door's hinges creaked eerily as he pushed it open, and he found yet another dim apartment inside. His hoofs gave muffled thumps as he tread across gray carpet into the area, his eyes darting from the furniture to the walls and the décor. This residence was very similar to the one he had previously plundered; the kitchen was in the same corner to his left, the table was in the same position, and shelves that had displayed the glass ornaments stood against the same wall, though various spices and cooking accessories were being presented on these shelves.

He looked to the right and saw something that he didn't recognize. There was a pink crib resting alone against the blue hued wall, and he immediately realized that the crib wasn't empty. There was a small child sitting behind the wooden bars, watching him with an odd little smirk on her face. Short burgundy hair fell flat over her head, and crystal blue eyes gazed at him with a sparkle that he never before seen in Human eyes. A cobalt-sapphire ensemble of clothing covered her fragile young body, one that almost matched her eyes perfectly. She grinned a half-toothed smile at him and giggled again, sending a chill up Mhar'laknee's spine.

He cocked his head and edged closer, wondering why this child was not afraid of him like all of the other Humans were. His hand hovered over his plasma rifle, though something inside stopped him from shooting, but the cause he couldn't pinpoint. The baby was just so _harmless_; she couldn't have been more than two Human years of age. A voice in his head simply wouldn't let him shoot, a voice that he was certain was not there before.

"Dada," the little girl peeped, still not tearing her eyes from the alien before her.

"No, foolish little Human, I'm not your–" Mhar'laknee stopped mid-sentence and instinctively took a step backwards as a small, chubby, five-fingered hand emerged from the bars and reached for him in the dark. Her fingertips almost brushed against his armored waist, and he then realized that the child wasn't reaching for him; she was reaching for the glass figurine in his hand.

He automatically handed it to her eager grasp where it was promptly shoved halfway into the child's mouth. Mhar'laknee chuckled at the action and took several more steps closer to the crib. He rested his hands on the bars and looked down upon the fervent child with curiosity as she repeatedly and unsuccessfully attempted to bite down on the glass statue.

"What is your name, little one?" he asked, trying his hardest to get all of the English pronunciations right.

She ignored him, finally pulling the statue out of her mouth and began playing with it. Mhar'laknee concluded that she probably couldn't yet speak much English herself, so he just watched her for another minute.

"You like that figurine, don't you?"

The child finally stopped and looked up at him. "Giraffe," she said, holding the long-necked animal up for him to see.

"Giraffe," he repeated, gazing at the statuette thoughtfully.

She then shoved the giraffe figure into his hand and averted her attention to another colorful toy in the corner of her crib, almost as if she had forgotten about him entirely. He wasn't used to this behavior. Most Humans cowered in fear before the Sangheili, but this child seemed to regard him as if he was one of their own. Her courage – even it was simply ignorance – was admirable.

Regardless, a part of his mind was screaming at him to pull out his rifle and kill her, to complete his job. That was the same part of his mind that had told him to kill the hundreds of other Humans that had fallen at his feet, the same part that had told him to command his troops to butcher so many innocent lives. It was the _loyal_ part of his mind, loyal to the Covenant. At the moment, however, that influence was being drowned out by the new voice in his head, the one that was halting his blade.

The Sangheili struggled with the warring demands in his head for another minute. Why this Human, this _child_, had stopped him in his tracks after so many previous killings puzzled him to an insane degree. He thought and thought over and over again, debating in his mind whether to murder the child on the spot. She didn't _deserve_ such a fate, but what was another alternative? If he did shoot her, she'd die a quick death, but if he left her here alive, she'd die slowly of starvation and neglect. The only other option would be to take her under his own wing…

A warm touch on his hand made him jump and abandon his thoughts. The child had grabbed a hold onto his fingers and was examining them attentively; probably curious as to why this creature's skin was such a different color than hers. He pulled his hand away out of reflex, and was mystified as her eyes began to water and face turn to a frown. She was _crying_… Sangheili didn't cry, and fascinated Mhar'laknee to watch as streams of water fell over her cheeks and sobs whimper from her mouth. He had been told that Humans cried for many different reasons: when they were sad, when they were happy, when they were extremely amused, when they were frightened, and almost any other emotion, but he had only seen Humans cry because of fear. This child was still unafraid, but she was crying.

Mhar'laknee hesitated, set the giraffe figurine on the shelf of the cradle's bars, and then slowly reached for the child's torso. His long fingers wrapped around her middle and he lifted, careful to keep the girl at an arm's distance away as though holding a dangerous animal. He raised her to eye level and looked her over inquisitively. Her brow furrowed and she let out another loud sob, closed her eyes and sobbed again, and the Sangheili felt as though he was supposed to do something to stop her distress.

He carefully looked her over once again. She didn't look dangerous, certainly not like she was going to bite, so he cautiously pulled her closer, put a bracing hand under her middle, and brought her close to his chest. He was _cradling _her, and she was allowing it! She almost immediately stopped crying, hooked her tiny chin around his shoulder, and embraced the base of his neck with her delicate hands.

A faint, protective fatherly instinct appeared in the back of Mhar'laknee's mind and he squeezed the child gently to comfort her. He had never felt anything like it before. He suddenly felt like he would take a bullet without hesitation for this child, this _Human_, as though she were a Sangheili like himself. Why? He had no idea. It frightened him significantly to feel this way, for it meant that he was showing _weakness_.

He could not possibly hurt her now. And that only left one other possibility…

A strange idea appeared in his brain at that moment, probably the most unconventional and sacrilegious idea that had ever crossed his mind.

He was going to take her back to High Charity with him.

Not as a prisoner, not as a hostage, not even as game, but as a future warrior for the Covenant. He would raise her as a Sangheili, teach her the Covenant ways, teach her the Covenant religion, and teach her to fight like an esteemed Sangheili soldier. All he needed was to present his plan to the San 'Shyuum and receive authorization for such an endeavor. He didn't know if it was possible, or even if he'd be executed for heresy for even suggesting such a project, but for some unknown reason, Mhar'laknee was willing to risk everything for this little Human child.

She lifted her head until her face was just inches from his, and then placed a warm hand on the Sangheili's nose, laughing as she did so. He couldn't help but click his mandibles with amusement himself. The child looked at his jaws after hearing the sound, furrowed her brow, and then imitated the noise by giving a quiet click of her tongue against her teeth. Mhar'laknee only responded by clicking louder, clearly laughing with delight at her effort.

"Come now, little one," Mhar'laknee said in the Sangheili language, "it's time you face your destiny. Today you have become one of the Covenant."

Before leaving, Mhar'laknee took a moment to pick up the glass figurine and tuck it away in one of the shallow pockets his armor provided. It was yet another action that he wasn't sure what had influenced him to perform, but he continued regardless and kept the statuette close anyway. And with that, the Sangheili turned around and left the crib empty, carrying the inquisitive Human girl tightly in his arms. He wasn't sure how he would approach the Council with his idea, but it was the best way to ensure the child's survival, even if the chances were slim. And who knows, if he succeeded in raising the child, she might become a great asset to the Covenant's cause.

Part of him also wanted to attempt this project to satisfy his own curiosity. He wondered whether or not a Human would be able to survive in the Covenant society, whether their brains would be able to comprehend the complex rules and logic of their religion. Hopefully the San 'Shyuum would have similar inquires, for both his and the Human's lives depended on it.

Sighing deeply with anxiousness, he exited the apartment and walked down the hall, careful to keep to the passages that seemed empty. He didn't want any of his followers to see him with this Human, for that would simply attract a lot of unneeded attention to him. The rest of the Sangheili didn't need to know about his plan… yet. Until he made sure it was a success and was approved, he didn't want anyone to know that he was harboring one of their enemies.

He slipped through a back hallway door and glanced at a sign posted on the wall next to him. He was heading for the hangar bay; that was where his private Phantom was docked. He would just tell his troops that he had been called to High Charity on urgent business, and leave his second executive, Vak'tomee, in charge of the rest of this operation. He didn't like lying to his own Sangheili, but this called for desperate actions, and if he survived the day, he was sure that his soldiers would understand.

Suddenly, Mhar'laknee heard Sangheili voices behind him, and he quickened his brisk walk to a hasty jog. The child was forced to hold on tighter, and soon the Fieldmaster glided his way through hallway after hallway, through the very blood drenched marketplace, and was well on his way to the shuttle bay without encountering trouble from any Humans or Sangheili.

They came up to a massive and scorched open Titanium-A blast door, and Mhar'laknee recognized it as the same door that they had had to blow open when they first arrived. On the other side of the door was the shuttle bay, but instead of the once pristine, polished walls of Titanium-A and polished glass, he found a blood-slicked battlefield. The foul smell of rotting and gore wafted into their noses and the Human girl whimpered at the sight. Even a child could sense great loss in such a place as this. Mhar'laknee cautiously looked around and, seeing no one alive, continued forward as the whining child buried her face in his shoulder.

There was a spine-chilling silence about the bay, only broken by the soft squishing of Mhar'laknee's hooves through the puddles of blood and the occasional snivel from the Human girl. Bodies were piled against the walls, rifles of both Human and Covenant manufacture were scattered about the grounds, and all the walls and docked Human vessels alike were spattered with bullet holes and plasma blisters. Dismembered limbs and shattered fragments of bone sat alone near the lifeless heaps that used to be their owners, motionless. Normally, such a field would not have bothered Mhar'laknee in the slightest, but guilt infested itself within his gut as he held the Human child. If she was old enough to remember this sight, she'd surely never forgive the Covenant… or him, since after all, he did help in creating such destruction.

The Sangheili rounded a smoking Human escape pod whose engine had clearly been burned out by a plasma grenade during the previous battle. He gave a wide berth to the sparks and finally caught sight of the entrance to his Phantom a mere twenty paces in front of him, its shiny purple oval chassis glistening as it hovered not far from the station. He easily foisted the Human girl back up onto his shoulder after she had slipped several centimeters down his chest, and began to walk forward towards the vessel.

Mhar'laknee jumped in surprise as he felt something grab a strong hold on his left leg. He immediately tried unsuccessfully to grab his plasma rifle because of the child in his arms, so he instead just stepped away and looked down to see what had gripped him.

There was a live _Human_ sprawled on the ground! It was man; his face was bloody and his clothes soaked with red. One of his hands appeared to be missing several fingers and he couldn't seem to move his right leg, but he was wearing a determined and hateful expression in his eyes, and his one uninjured hand was desperately and violently groping for the Sangheili's leg which had stepped out of his reach.

"Damn… damn you, Covie bastard," he rasped menacingly, though his voice was barely audible. "You – you killed my family and my…" his voice trailed off and he coughed profoundly, and Mhar'laknee winced in disgust as the throaty gurgle of some phlegm-like mucus sounded from deep within his chest. "My life… dead…"

"Silence, broken one," the Sangheili snapped. "Your insignificant words are not worthy enough to be heard by my ears."

The Human didn't verbally respond, but his scowl sharpened and his hazed eyes traveled about the Sangheili's frame, finally focusing. He blinked several times after seeing the little child, and fear and concern crinkled his face.

"Daughter… my daughter… put her down! Get your filthy hands off of her!" he screamed as loud as his voice would allow, dragging his body forward on his one good hand in an attempt to get closer.

Mhar'laknee cocked his head. "This child is your daughter?"

The man nodded and swallowed hard, unable to summon enough energy to speak.

The Sangheili frowned at him, and then took another step backwards to easily keep out of arm's reach. "She is your daughter no longer," he said steadily. "She is one of the Covenant now. I have spared her, and for that you should be thankful. However, I cannot bestow you the same fate."

Fear manifested in the man's face, but then it almost instantly turned to a hateful glare. "You bastards are all the same," he spat. "You kill us without mercy, without even a reason for doing so. You destroy our planets, you've destroyed our homes, you've killed my wife… and now you are taking my daughter prisoner? What do you want with her? She's just a baby!"

"That's exactly why I wish to have her," Mhar'laknee countered. "As a child, her mind is free of your foul Human influence. I have a chance to teach her to be one of the Covenant, and perhaps she will even aid our cause when she grows older." The Sangheili stopped, and then freed one of his arms and made a grab for the plasma rifle at his side. "But none of that concerns you. I grow weary of this. It's time your insignificant life ended."

Terror creased his face, and he immediately recoiled. "No! My daughter, you can't have her, you can't… Damn you, damn you to Hell–"

Plasma hissed through the air and sizzled as it impacted upon the wrangled body of the child's father. He cried in pain, the child began to cry, and Mhar'laknee bolted away from the scene, sprinting for his Phantom, eager to just leave, just get away from the slaughter. Tears streamed down the child's face after seeing her father killed and she screamed with fear and thrashed in the Sangheili's arms.

Mhar'laknee tried his best to ignore the wails and attempted to keep the squirming child under control, aided only by the fact that they were so close to his ship. Within moments they had arrived at the gravitational passage that mostly just looked like a gaping hole in the wall filled with purple shifting light that lead to his vessel. It almost appeared as though the pass was filled with moving jelly, but as the Sangheili leaped into the channel, there were no floating substances to be found. Of course, Mhar'laknee was accustomed to this form of Covenant transportation. He was used to the feeling of weightlessness as his feet rose from the ground; he was used to the sharp twist of his insides as they seemed to slowly churn in his gut.

The child, however, was not.

Her cries were immediately silenced as the wondrous and new experience of buoyancy made her body turn light as a feather. Her head quickly lifted and her eyes bulged as she surveyed their foreign environment with fear-filled curiosity, and Mhar'laknee felt her grip tighten as they glided down the passage toward the body of the Phantom with surprising speed by the force of the artificial gravitational rift.

The trip was a short one, and soon the pair had reached the opposite end of the hallway and were softly tossed into the luminescent insides of the ship, relieved to feel the familiar pull of gravity on their bodies. Mhar'laknee dashed to the cockpit and set the child down in one of the passenger seats. He pulled several seatbelt like straps from the side of the seat and strapped her in, but she seemed to be too paralyzed with alarm and panic to try to rebel anyway.

The Sangheili then leaped into the pilot's seat and fired the plasma thrusters. A mixture of purple and blue plasma dust spewed out of the vessel's backside, and it pulled away from the Human docking port, retracting the gravitational lift along with it.

Mhar'laknee punched in several flight coordinates that would take them back to High Charity, and finally leaned back in his chair, surprisingly exhausted from the excitement. He heard the Human child give a light gurgle, and turned his head to look behind him.

There she was; his prize of the mission, the prize that very possibly could get him executed for heresy, the prize that he wasn't sure could learn what he desired to teach, but she was a prize nonetheless. At the moment, she looked as though she was on the verge of tears and seemed to be in shock, unable to move. He contemplated trying to comfort her; after all, to accomplish his goal, she would need to have no fear of him, but a beeping communications console called his attention. He reluctantly turned back around and pressed the holographic "answer" button, listening intently.

"Fieldmaster," a Sangheili voice addressed him. "This is Vak'tomee. What are doing on that ship? We've almost conquered the Human installation! We need you here to finish the assault!"

Mhar'laknee paused, still hesitant about lying to his soldiers. And besides that, Vak'tomee was one of his closest friends, and Mhar'laknee didn't want to lie to him. There really was no other choice though, not if he wanted to avoid public confrontation about his eccentric project, so he decided that just this one time wouldn't hurt. "I've been called to High Charity," he replied darkly. "I'm leaving you in charge of the rest of this procedure."

"Called to High Charity?" Vak'tomee asked. "Why?"

"I'm not quite sure. My messenger told me it was urgent business," Mhar'laknee falsely explained, wincing as the lie rolled off his tongue.

Suddenly, the Human in the side seat regained her ability to respond and began to cry once again. Mhar'laknee turned around and frowned at her, but she only sobbed louder. "Hush, little one!" the Sangheili whispered sharply. She still did not respond.

"What is that noise?" Vak'tomee asked over the channel.

"Nothing," Mhar'laknee said.

There was suspicious silence on the other end of the transmission.

"I really should go, Vak'tomee," the Fieldmaster told him hastily. "You're in charge, remember. I'll meet you at High Charity."

"Of course," the Sangheili replied. "Thank you, Excellency."

Mhar'laknee gave a grunt to reply, and then clicked off the feed. He scrambled to his feet and strode to the child's side, eager to stop the relentless screaming.

"Shh," he comforted as he bent down to a kneel in front of her seat. She continued to wail, thoroughly disturbed by the events that had just passed in front of her very eyes. First she had been taken away from her home, then her father had been murdered, and now she was on an alien vessel speeding away from all contact with her very own species.

"It's for your own good, you know," Mhar'laknee said, knowing perfectly well that she couldn't understand a word. "You'd thank me if you knew."

Tears poured down her cheeks, and the Sangheili knelt dumbstruck, not knowing what to do to stop her crying. He knew what she wanted, but it was something that he could not possibly give to her, for the Covenant had permanently taken it from her.

_He_ had taken it from her.

She wanted her family. She wanted some piece of Human society, some kind of touch of Human existence, but he didn't have anything to give her. Unless…

An idea popped into his mind and he reached into his pocket and fished out the little glass figurine, the "giraffe." He wasn't sure if it would help, but it was worth a shot, so he handed the shimmering figure of glass to the squirming girl.

To his relief, the glass ornament was easily able to pique the child's interest, and her little fingers wrapped around the figure's base. The cries finally stopped and she seemed to forget about her current predicament and was captivated by the glimmer of the glass. She brought it close to face and examined it intently while Mhar'laknee finally stood up, sighing deeply.

This child would certainly have an interesting future in front of her. Assuming she was accepted in the Covenant society – which, of course, was unlikely – she would be the only Human fighting for the Covenant once she grew old enough to bear arms. Mhar'laknee shook these thoughts out of his mind. He was getting ahead of himself. He first needed to make sure that she the San 'Shyuum were in his favor, and he needed to make sure that he would be able to raise a Human child healthily and as one of the Covenant.

He turned around and slipped into the pilot's seat, nervousness burning his insides. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then looked once again at his newfound project candidate. She was still mesmerized by the crystal figurine, and Mhar'laknee watched as it went in and out of her mouth several more times. She certainly was curious; something that was uncommon among the Sangheili. With perhaps the exception of the San 'Shyuum, the Sangheili were the calmest Covenant member, and curiosity was not a cherished trait amongst their personalities. They knew that curiosity was dangerous, and they thought that it was best replaced with patients and judicious behavior. But he was curious to see what this Human might be able to offer to his race despite her inevitable inquisitiveness.

"Welcome, little one," Mhar'laknee murmured. "Welcome to the Covenant."

**

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**

**Thanks for reading!**

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**Forbidden Amber**


	2. A Heretical Proposition

**Chapter Two**

**A Heretical Proposition**

**2300 Hours, March 17, 2530 (Military Calendar) / High Charity, Covenant Holy City.**

The Sanctum of the Hierarchs was absolutely silent as the Prophet of Truth sat alone in his great hall. Before him were several holographic panels and screens of varied sizes, though each one displayed pictures or data of the same thing: the depths of space.

"Maps, coordinates, charts, diagrams…" the San 'Shyuum muttered to himself disdainfully as he sat in his hovering throne-like chair. "Millions upon millions of kilometers… but no Earth. Nowhere!"

He pounded his fist on the armrest, and the sound resonated with a low hum in the cavernous room. His thin, bony body leaned back in his seat and he closed his weary eyes. He had been pouring over these maps and star charts for hours on end now, not eating, not sleeping, and he wasn't allowing _anyone_ inside the Sanctum until he was through with his work. Even the dozens Sangheili Honor Guards that usually lined his hall were gone, for he had sent them away. He had told them that their presence distracted him while he worked – even though they never moved or talked while they were on duty – but the real reason he had sent everyone from the Sanctum was because he didn't want to anyone to see their religious leader distressed.

Sometimes even he was unsure if there was valid cause for distress, for the Prophesy said that the Covenant would discover the home-planet of the Enemy when it was time, but they had been searching for so, so long now… Truth was beginning to doubt whether they'd ever find what they were looking for. The Humans were surprisingly elusive and hard to track. Even when he sent out spies to follow the Human ships in hopes of following them to their planet, they'd either become exposed and destroyed or the Humans would lead the spy capsule somewhere else.

The San 'Shyuum shook his head slowly. If anyone found out that his faith in the Prophesy was wavering, panic would ensue and that would just lead to more problems. He had to put on a solid performance whenever he wasn't alone – he had to make sure that he seemed completely faithful, while on the inside, he was boiling with uncertainty.

There were other members of the Covenant whose job it was to search for the Human planet, "Earth", but Truth often found himself unable to simply stand on the sidelines and watch as his people searched and searched and found nothing. He felt he had to be a part of it somehow, success or failure.

Truth sighed and closed the holograms and star displays. He had done quite enough for today. A long, dexterous finger pressed a button on his hover chair, and he heard the main gate located at the end of the hallway slide open with a low groan.

His curved neck pivoted to allow him to look down the statue-lined passage, but instead of the many gold-crimson-clad Honor guards that he expected to see walk through the now open door, there was but one Sangheili figure, and he was not wearing the normal Honor Guard armor. He was wearing the dulled and chipped golden armor of a highly-ranked Covenant warrior, and in his arms he was carrying a small being of some sort, though Truth could not quite get a good enough view to see what it was.

Truth cocked his head. Did he have an appointment with someone today? He had checked his schedule earlier that morning, but he didn't remember seeing anything of this sort.

"Identify yourself," the San 'Shyuum demanded to the Sangheili who was now halfway through the hall.

The Sangheili stopped, and then bowed low to the ground, as was the tradition when in the presence of a high-ranking San 'Shyuum. He was careful to keep the entity in his arms close and upright during the bow, and, as was tradition, did not raise his head until he was given the signal from the Prophet of Truth. "My name is X'rafe Mhar'laknee, Holy One," he said.

Truth recognized the name. Mhar'laknee was a Fieldmaster of no ill repute; in fact, the San 'Shyuum had attended several ceremonies at which this Sangheili had been awarded with several honors for heroic efforts in his many years of service.

"Mhar'laknee," Truth muttered to the still-bowing Sangheili. "I know your name, Fieldmaster. Your name is one of high regard."

"I'm flattered," Mhar'laknee said, his voice slightly muffled by the polished floor. "Your praise is the ultimate honor, great Prophet of Truth."

Truth narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his hovercraft inching closer to the underling. "Stand," he commanded, and the Sangheili obediently did so. "Why have you come here, Mhar'laknee–?"

The San 'Shyuum stopped mid-sentence and let out a gasp of both shock and disgust after getting a glimpse of the alien cradled in the Sangheili's arms. It was a _Human_ – there was a _Human_ in his Sanctum! From its frame, he could tell that it was a child, a very young child to be sure. Its bones were fragile and its skin was smooth; its hair was thin and cheeks a rosy red. One of its hands was occupying the child's attention by examining a particularly large tear in the shoulder of its holder's battle-aged armor. It surely looked harmless, but the San 'Shyuum was outraged.

"_What_ is that… that _vermin_ doing in my Sanctum?" Truth bellowed, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.

"Please, Great One, allow me a moment to explain–" Mhar'laknee began, taking a step backwards from his leader's sudden outburst.

"You must have some sort of death wish, Fieldmaster! You would bring this unholy creature to me on your own account? Give me _one_ reason I shouldn't call my guards and have you and that filth in your arms killed where you stand."

Mhar'laknee suppressed a wince as he felt his stomach twist. "_Please_, give me a chance to explain myself! I mean no animosity towards you, Holy Prophet; I've appeared before with nothing but pure faith in our cause… even if my presentation is a bit… impromptu."

Truth's finger was hovering perilously close to the button that would call his elite Honor Guards without delay on his seat's control panel, and Mhar'laknee would have to do some fast-talking in order to prevent that occurrence. The next words he said would most definitely determine his lifespan, and now that the child was here, in the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, he was in too deep to turn back and change his mind. It was here that every word was vital.

"I'm waiting, Fieldmaster," Truth said impatiently, pulling the Sangheili into reality. "You explanation for this… heresy?"

Mhar'laknee took a deep breath in and out to calm his racing heart. It was now or never… "Great Prophet of Truth," he began, his voice steady. "I have come before you today with… a great plan."

Truth tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, listening intently, though there was clearly skepticism shown in his face.

"It is a plan that has never been proposed before, though I only ask that you keep an open mind to what I have to say, for I believe that it could greatly aid our quest if you allow the plan time to bloom. My plan, Great Prophet, is unconventional, unparalleled, and seemingly heretical, though if you'll listen to my outline, you'll find that the heresy included with my plan is greatly outweighed by the usefulness of its result.

"I propose that we raise this Human as one of the Covenant."

The San 'Shyuum promptly gasped angrily, clearly stunned by the enormity of this Fieldmaster's supposed "plan." He sat bolt upright in his seat in astonishment, any shred of respect for this Sangheili quite clearly destroyed. "_What?_ That cannot happen! I won't allow any such action to be taken! You know that's simply unacceptable!"

Mhar'laknee furrowed his brow. "Please, withhold your wrath, Great One. I must assure you that I had the same reaction when the first thoughts of this course of action even crossed my mind, but please allow me to declare my delineated explanation and judge me not until I am finished."

The San 'Shyuum hesitated for seemingly minutes, pondering the idea of letting such foul words be uttered in his Sanctum or simply killing the Sangheili on the spot. It would be easy to simply push this entire disturbance under the rug and silence this Sangheili's ostensibly heretical voice for good, but would that be the honorable thing? The Covenant society was based almost entirely on honor, and this Fieldmaster had certainly gained a lot of that over his years and therefore was worthy of respect. And besides that, he seemed remarkably sure of himself in this matter. He deserved to be heard.

The San 'Shyuum let his eyes wander about the luminescent walls of his great Sanctum, admiring for the beautiful and exact craftsmanship of the statues and architecture for the umpteenth time. A purple radiance danced across the walls and reflected as mauve sprites along the sheen surfaces of the support columns. It was that color, the amethyst shine, which he and the Covenant as a whole favored so much, and it calmed him considerably. "Very well, Fieldmaster. I shall hear what you have to say and reserve conclusions until you have completed your outline," Truth said somewhat lackadaisically.

Mhar'laknee's left mandibles twitched in relief and gratitude, though it was barely noticeable. He should save appreciation for after his speech. "Then I shall do my best to communicate my intentions clearly, and please, Holy One, feel free to ask any questions about topics that I portray imprecisely."

Truth gave a curt nod.

Mhar'laknee cleared his throat, swallowed, and began. "As you and I of course know, Great Prophet of Truth, the association or… _fraternization_ of any sort with the Devil-race, the Humans, has always been strictly prohibited on the account that they are unholy and evil, that any Devil-speech that comes from their mouths is not to be trusted nor paid attention to. Ever since we came in contact with the Humans we have easily abided by this rule, slaughtering them without giving a moment's thought to their pleads or beseeches. In fact, the only time we've ever given any real thought to what they have to say is when they are giving valuable information about their plans or locations of compounds or other such figures, and because Humans are so easy to break under pain, it has always been relatively simple to retrieve such tidings." Truth nodded thoughtfully.

"But what about the information that the Humans will not give?" Mhar'laknee continued. "No matter how many times we try, no matter what methods we use, the Humans will _not_ give away the location of their home-planet, 'Earth.'"

At the mention of the planet, Truth immediately raised his head a little higher, listening even more intently to the Sangheili's words. Knowing that he had caught the San 'Shyuum's attention, Mhar'laknee continued and embellished the connection between his plan and the much-searched-for planet called "Earth".

"So I began to wonder: what would it take to pressure a Human into revealing that particular piece of information? The answer is that it is impossible. I'd guess that many of the Humans don't even know the exact coordinates of their planet to begin with – not the lower ranking foot soldiers, at least. I'd surmise that only the Humans higher up in their military hierarchy know the location of Earth, and, _if _we could capture one of these superiors, whether they'd reveal it under pain is unlikely to say in the least.

"But what if we had a way to extract the coordinates without resorting to violence? Answers given by tortured beings can never be completely trusted. Actually, _any_ answers given by a Human to one of the Covenant cannot be trusted, but why would they lie to one of their own race? What if we could secure a Human emissary – a _spy_ – that would get us all the information we need to strike the Humans' home-planet and wipe them from this galaxy for good?"

"But you said nothing they tell us can be trusted," Truth broke in. "Even if we did get a "spy", there would be no way to authenticate his news. He could easily set a trap for us."

"Ah, but that's where my plan comes in," Mhar'laknee said with a subtle grin. "I said, 'any information given from a _Human_ to one of the _Covenant_ could not be trusted.' But what if the Human _was_ one of the Covenant?"

Truth looked away, shaking his head slightly in ridicule. "Fieldmaster, there is no way that you can ensure complete trust between–"

"Think of it, Holy One," Mhar'laknee said. "A Human-Covenant being could become one of our most valuable agents. We'd be able to set a spy into their ranks with no doubt that she would stay true to our cause. We'd be able to get information that no Sangheili or any other member of our Covenant would be able to retrieve; we'd be able to get accurate reports on the Humans' inner-workings… we'd be able to do anything, Holy One, it won't just be limited to finding out the location of Earth. The spy would be able to easily perform assassinations of high-ranking Human commanders, sabotage Human vessels and vehicles… the list is endless."

"But how would you guarantee absolute obedience between us and the subject?" Truth asked, his eyes glued to his underling.

"Simple," Mhar'laknee said casually. "We'd simply teach the Human the Covenant religion. We'd teach her to act like one of us, teach her our language, and teach her our traditions. We would make sure that there would be absolutely no difference between the knowledge of our Covenant between any Sangheili and the subject herself."

"And what would we tell her once she grows old enough to realize she is unique?"

"We'd tell her that she was saved from the damned existence of being with Humans. We'd tell her that she was a part of the Prophesy; that she was meant to have undergone a salvation from the Humans and was meant to aid us. Because she is so young, whatever we lead her to believe, she will believe it. If we teach her strict obedience, that is what she shall grow to accept and will obey our commands. The possibilities are limitless."

The San 'Shyuum sighed in the back of his throat, deep in thought. "She?" he finally asked.

Mhar'laknee paused. "Yes, my Human subject is female," he said slowly, nodding towards the child who was sitting surprisingly quietly in his arms. "That's… not a problem, is it, Holy One?"

"I suppose not," Truth said after a moment's pondering. "What is her name?"

Mhar'laknee hesitated again, realizing for the first time that he didn't know the child's name. What had he been referring to her as in his mind? 'The Child'? "I'm afraid I do not know, Holy Prophet."

"Hmm," Truth put a bony hand on his chair's control panel and he hovered a few paces closer. He examined the Human in more detail, only now realizing that she was not the quite filthy vermin he had first thought her to be. Even so, he had spent all of his life devoting time to exterminating the Human race… "I'm not sure about this," he muttered, double-checking his consideration.

"But there is nothing for us to lose," Mhar'laknee pressed, attempting one final effort to secure the San 'Shyuum's favor. "Should my work prove that we are unable to raise a healthy Human child, then we have at least tried the project to the best of our ability. Who knows – succeeding may lead to the downfall of the Humans earlier than expected, and that means the Coming of the Great Journey will occur earlier than expected."

Truth angled his head. "I'm still unsure."

"We stand more to gain than we do to lose," Mhar'laknee pushed even further. "And besides, our studies have shown the Humans carry no innate foreign diseases dangerous to any member of our Covenant–"

"But what would we tell the public?" Truth inquired. "This Human can't live in the dark forever, and if a soldier mistook her for an enemy and killed her on the battlefield, the entire project would be a waste of time."

"We'll tell them nothing," the Fieldmaster said quickly, shifting his grip on the child's torso yet again. "At least, not until we're sure that the project will be successful. Until she has learned everything she needs to know about the Covenant and she is old enough to make her own conscious decisions, she will remain out of sight to the public. And when she does reach that point, we will tell the Covenant exactly what we will teach her – that she was saved from Human life. There won't be a single body of our Covenant who does not know her name and her religious significance to our cause. If the Covenant believes that she has sacred value, we can ensure that no 'accidents' lead to her death."

Truth exhaled slowly and deeply, locking his gaze with the glossy floor ahead of him as he thought. His long eyelashes batted as he occasionally blinked, and the golden crown-like headdress atop his ovular skull glistened elegantly in the ambience of the room. No sound could be heard except for the low hum of the San 'Shyuum's hovercraft seat, but even that buzz seemed to hush as the San 'Shyuum began to heavily ponder these new possibilities. Mhar'laknee almost thought he had lost his voice, like some power in the room was stopping him from speaking. No one ever bothered a San 'Shyuum while he was thinking.

"Well, then I suppose there is only one thing left to contend with," Truth finally said after a long minute of thought, his harmonious voice breaking the silence like an arrow. "The child needs a name."

"You have no objections, then?"

"I will allow you to try your plan," Truth announced. "You will care for her and raise her as long as you accept that she belongs to me and the Covenant army. Should I say she should be executed, she will be, no questions asked. Should I say that she should depart on an extremely dangerous mission, you will allow her without any doubt in my choices. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Mhar'laknee said without hesitation.

"Very well then," Truth said. "She will need a name."

Mhar'laknee couldn't believe it. The Prophet of Truth was approving his plan. The Sangheili's heart began beating very rapidly with excitement, and he instinctively lowered his head slightly to show gratitude. "Do you have any suggestions?" he asked.

Truth wondered for a moment, and then almost immediately came up with a response. "Her name will be Ravayne."

Mhar'laknee nodded. It was a fitting name; constructed from the Covenant words "vayne," which meant "Saved One," or "Delivered One," and "ra," which meant "female."

"'Saved Female,'" the Sangheili murmured. "A worthy title indeed, Holy One."

The San 'Shyuum nodded, and, to Mhar'laknee's surprise, a _smile_ spread across his face. San 'Shyuum didn't smile often.

"It is decided, then," Truth announced. "This Human subject, Ravayne, is hereby placed under your care and it is your responsibility to raise her as one of the Covenant to the full extent of your resources. She will be kept a secret from the public and all those not involved with your plan… unless, of course, you think that you will require aid in this task?"

"I may make this project known to several well-trusted contacts," Mhar'laknee said. "If you'll allow it."

"You have my permission. Do whatever you need to make this plan a success. I look forward to seeing what the final product will have to offer the Covenant."

"I'm sure you will be pleasantly rewarded," Mhar'laknee said warmly. "We all will be."

"Indeed," the San 'Shyuum confirmed, his crown sparkling as he raised his head resolutely. "One last thing, Mhar'laknee," he added.

"Yes?"

"From this moment onward, you are no longer a Fieldmaster," Truth said, and Mhar'laknee cocked his head to the side curiously. "You are now my Executor."

The Sangheili was stunned for a moment. He had worked all of his life to reach the respected rank of Fieldmaster, and his title had just been stripped away in just a few moments. This meant that he would not be able to serve on the battlefield anymore. Not until the child was old enough to fend for herself, at least. He wasn't sure if he liked that consequence… But, on the other hand, he was one of the Prophet of Truth's right-hand ambassadors now, and most Sangheili who desire that status never achieve it despite years of hard work. The change was in his favor.

He nodded in acceptance. "Understood."

"Good," Truth said, leaning back in his chair, tiredness shown in his drooping body. "I apologize, but I'm afraid I must cut this meeting short. I have not rested in many cycles now, and my mind requires rest. Take the child to the medical sector until I can make arrangements for a more cultivating environment in which she may live and grow. And keep her out of sight, of course."

"Understood," the Sangheili repeated. "Farewell, Holy One, and thank you for this opportunity." He turned away and began walking back down the long hall towards the main door, his footsteps lively with enthusiasm. The child, Ravayne, seemed to have fallen asleep during their discussion and her head was lying limp on the Sangheili's shoulder.

"Good luck, Executor," Truth said quietly.

Mhar'laknee turned his long neck to look over his shoulder at the San 'Shyuum, the Prophet who had saved both his and Ravayne's lives. Mhar'laknee was still not quite sure what he had done to deserve this chance to help his Covenant in such a way, and the only way he could think to repay the San 'Shyuum was to ensure that his project was a success. He only hoped that he could do it.

He gazed at the San 'Shyuum for a long moment, and then twitched his left mandibles. Truth gave a wise, subtle grin.

The Executor turned back towards the door and continued through to the hallway, his mind abuzz with incredible ideas and possibilities. That day, though all but two members of the Covenant were unaware of it, a consecrated warrior had been born, one that would change the direction of the Covenant forever.

* * *

**1130 Hours, March 20, 2530 (Military Calendar) / High Charity, Covenant Holy City.**

Two full cycles had sped by since Mhar'laknee's plan's inauguration, and in that time, Mhar'laknee had moved the Human child into a vacant dwelling in the medical-science sector of the Hierarchs' main portion of the city without much difficulty about keeping secrecy. The apartment-like home was small, but it would certainly suffice until the Prophet of Truth was able to secure a private and safe permanent domicile for Mhar'laknee's plans.

In this two-day period, Mhar'laknee had also learned a great deal of how Ravayne communicated her needs. He'd found that it was quite simple, really. When she was hungry, she cried. When she was tired, she cried. Other than these two needs, he'd found that she was actually quite resourceful; when she was bored, she'd always find a way of entertaining herself, whether it be following him around or sucking on a finger.

He'd been feeding her mainly soft foods and drink, for he'd discovered that, even though she did have teeth, it was difficult for her to chew the rubbery meats or stiff fruits that made up a Sangheili's diet. Instead, she'd been drinking nutritious fluids or mashed produce that she seemed to have no objection to eating. Mhar'laknee hoped that her jaws would grow stronger once she grew older, for she couldn't live off of pulverized fruit forever.

One thing that the child did that Mhar'laknee simply couldn't understand was why she had to make such a mess while she ate. She seemed to find amusement in dodging the spoonfuls of food that Mhar'laknee guided to her mouth, and she'd occasionally refuse to swallow the food that he had managed to get past her lips. Mhar'laknee was quite sure that Sangheili children didn't perform this obnoxious behavior, though his memory was fuzzy on the subject. It had been a long time since he had ever been around younglings, Sangheili offspring or otherwise.

Other than these strange performances, Ravayne seemed to be handling the separation from her family, home, and race surprisingly well. She did occasionally whine for no apparent reason, and Mhar'laknee could only assume that this was because she wanted her family. When she did this, he would always feel that faint fatherly instinct appear in the back of his mind, and he would attempt to console her by speaking to her in his language and paying as much attention to her as possible. Sooner or later, she'd understand what he was trying to say: the Covenant was her family now.

The points at which she was in a cheerful mood were just as common, if not more frequent than when she was grouchy, and Mhar'laknee found these periods to include unforeseen entertainment value. He'd spent hours on end simply sitting on the floor in front of her and watching her laugh at the simplest of things – he could put his hands over his eyes and suddenly pull them away and she'd go into hysterics; he could make gurgling noises in the back of his throat and she'd burst into laughter. Seeing a smile on her face gave him a strangely pleasant feeling in the core of his stomach. It was somewhat like a chill, though it was warmer, like he was being praised for an excellent deed or a superior had just complimented him.

"Inquisitive little one, aren't you?" Mhar'laknee said to the child after she had just finished the millionth extensive probing of his hand. Ravayne couldn't seem to figure out why he looked so different than the people who normally took care of her, and Mhar'laknee began to wonder whether she thought that he truly was her father who had undergone some sort of transformation. He wasn't sure if she was really that clueless, but if she wasn't, it didn't matter much because Mhar'laknee would become just like a father to her soon enough. In the meantime, Mhar'laknee tried talking to her in his language as much has possible so that she may learn to understand him. He had tried teaching her to say her own name, but the pronunciations seemed too difficult for her to form, so he had discarded the idea until she became more familiar with how the Sangheili spoke.

So far, Mhar'laknee had only told one other person about the project, the one person whom he knew he could trust. He had told his friend and underling, Seraia Vak'tomee, about the entire operation as soon as he learned that the Prophet of Truth had accepted his plan, and though Vak'tomee had not been quite thrilled about the idea, Mhar'laknee knew that he would keep his secrecy safe. Mhar'laknee felt that he owed it to Vak'tomee; he deserved to be told why Mhar'laknee was no longer a Fieldmaster and why he had lied to him. When Mhar'laknee had told him about the plan over the distance communicator, Vak'tomee seemed too overwhelmed with questions and doubt to care much about the fact that his Fieldmaster had lied to him or that he had been relieved of his rank. Through the frenzied cries and chronic babbling about how immoral and evil Mhar'laknee's plan was, the two Sangheili had managed to organize a time at which Vak'tomee would come to visit Mhar'laknee's medical bay temporary home and meet Ravayne – however reluctant he was to say he would.

A sudden bell coming from the front door alerted Mhar'laknee that that time had come, and he quickly scrambled to his feet after about a half hour of playing with Ravayne on the floor. Vak'tomee had arrived, and he was probably very anxious to meet the child who had torn his closest friend from the battlefield and therefore relieved him of his rank and military status. Mhar'laknee swallowed nervously.

Mhar'laknee slipped into the front entrance hall, cleared his throat, and pressed a finger into the hologram to the left of the frame. Like a giant eye just opening from a deep sleep, the metallic gate slid upwards and revealed a very ruffled Sangheili standing in the middle of the hall, his clothes casual and slightly filthy, and his body unwashed. Mhar'laknee opened his mouth to begin a greeting, but was interrupted.

"Heretic!" Vak'tomee hissed as soon as the door opened. "You lied to me!"

Mhar'laknee stood stunned for a moment, forgetting about the salutation that had just been swatted from his tongue. "I'm sorry; I know I shouldn't have lied to you about being called to High Charity–"

"No, I don't care about that," Vak'tomee said. "You lied to me about something else, too. You told me that you weren't a heretic, yet here you are, harboring that monster in your quarters!"

"It's not heresy!" Mhar'laknee said defensively. "I have full consent from the Prophet of Truth himself, and I told you about the project because I trust you and I know that you wouldn't jeopardize–"

"I don't care what the San 'Shyuum says in this matter! Your little experiment is pure heresy and we both know it!"

"It's _not_ heresy," Mhar'laknee growled for the second time. "I am doing this only for advancement of _our_ Covenant! You simply do not have all the facts, my friend. The Prophet had the same reaction when I first proposed my plan, and I was able to convince him that it would be a profitable operation! Are you saying that you do not trust the Prophet's word?"

Vak'tomee lowered his eyes, snarling under his breath. He could not seem to come up with a riposte.

"I ask only one thing," Mhar'laknee said, now softening his voice. "Just listen to my plan, meet the child, and above all else, keep quiet about this! Not only do I ask this of you as a precaution on my behalf, but also as a friend. If this experiment goes public, the entire Covenant would go into a frenzy of doubt and mistrust in our leaders without all the facts of my plan, and the Prophet would undoubtedly have you killed for revealing this information."

Vak'tomee raised his head, a sour frown on his face. He stared at Mhar'laknee for the longest time, almost as if he didn't recognize him. His unblinking eyes bore into Mhar'laknee's, searching them for any sign of weakness. But, as always, Mhar'laknee's face and intentions were clear and stern. Vak'tomee sighed. "Very well," he said slowly. "I will keep my mouth closed about this matter, and I will tolerate being marshaled into the presence of your demon child if that is what you desire. However, I do not oblige to subjecting myself to your cause."

"That's all I ask," Mhar'laknee said with a smile. "Thank you."

Vak'tomee grunted and walked through the door into the tiny medical apartment. The gel-like gray carpet snuffed the soft _clip-clop_ of their hooves as the two Sangheili walked through the hall towards the back room.

"It reeks of Human in here," Vak'tomee muttered under his breath as they walked.

"It may take some time for the child's body to adjust to the foods that I have been feeding her," Mhar'laknee quickly responded defensively. "After that, I'm sure her… _odor_ will vanish."

They reached the door at the end of the hall. Mhar'laknee stretched a long-fingered hand to its florescent blue surface, and the barrier immediately slid open, showing a significantly bare room with simple furniture lining its edges. Small chairs and an object that could vaguely be described as a crib that had been crudely modeled after the one Mhar'laknee had originally found Ravayne in was tucked in the corner, soft blankets coating its walls and small, colorful toys piled at its base. Sitting in the middle of the room, playing with a hand-sized rubber-like ball was Ravayne, lively as ever.

Vak'tomee immediately acknowledged the little Human with a revolted huff. Mhar'laknee ignored him.

"There she is," he said proudly. "Isn't she magnificent?"

Vak'tomee angled his head. "There are many words I would use to describe this creature, and "magnificent" is certainly not one of them."

"Straighten yourself, Vak'tomee," Mhar'laknee reprimanded. "This child could very well be the deliverer of the Great Journey someday."

"Bah!" he scoffed. "This child is nothing more than a foul omen. If I didn't know better I would say the Prophets are letting down their guard…"

Mhar'laknee said nothing in response. Both Sangheili watched as Ravayne stood up with the ball in her hands and began to walk towards them, a juvenile grin upon her face. Vak'tomee instinctively took a step backwards, but Mhar'laknee bent down into a low kneel, closer to her level. Vak'tomee watched curiously from the sidelines as Ravayne approached his friend fearlessly and put the rubber ball into his hand.

"Ball," he heard her say in English.

Mhar'laknee shook his head. "No," he muttered, followed by giving her the Covenant word for "ball" and holding the toy up for her to see. She simply mumbled the new word to herself, her accents inaccurate and her speech slurred, but she was learning the new language, however slowly.

He handed the plaything back to her and she toddled away, back to the other side of the room where there were several other simple toys stacked against the wall. Mhar'laknee stood back up, chuckling.

"You see?" he said to his friend. "She's not so repulsive as you thought. There's nothing "foul" about her; she's the Prophet's future messenger of victory. Or, she _will_ be, I should say."

"I'm still in shock that the Prophet would even allow that monster to set foot in the holy city of High Charity. Tainting its sanctified soil…"

"That's quite enough, Underling," Mhar'laknee growled. "You may be a close friend of mine, but respect is due when you are in my presence nonetheless. I am an Executor now, Vak'tomee, not just a paltry Fieldmaster. I outrank you by landslide – I _am_ the right hand of the Prophets!"

"Ah, yes… I'm aware of your considerable promotion, _Excellency_," Vak'tomee said disdainfully. "But I feel obliged to advise you not to raise your head too high into the clouds. You are one of many heralds of the Prophets – you are an insignificant servant to them, just _one_ of their massive army. Do not be so quick to consider yourself invaluable."

Mhar'laknee looked away and chose once again to keep his silence, though, deep down, he knew that his friend was right. "This is not the matter at hand," he said. "What matters now is your decision regarding this project. You have two choices: you can listen to my plan in detail and then choose whether or not to participate, or you can leave now and forget about this whole confrontation. Either way, you promised to keep your silence."

Vak'tomee turned his gaze to the child. She was still sitting near the opposite wall of the room playing with the rubber ball. Mhar'laknee was right – she wasn't all that repulsive or foul. In fact, she looked rather peaceful and endearing as her soft, baby burgundy hair shimmered in the light and her inquisitive fingers explored the surface of her toy and almost every object within reach. She certainly looked nothing like what most would call a demon.

And the Prophet of Truth had given his consent to this project. He had never been wrong before; he had always been a strong, profitable leader that had lead the Covenant to countless victories against the Humans and brought their races ever closer the dawn of the Great Journey. Perhaps he was right in this instance as well. Vak'tomee had no reason not to trust him.

Vak'tomee gave a long, solid sigh and looked back to Mhar'laknee. "All right," he said. Mhar'laknee's head perked up. "Tell me everything about your plan. I accept."


	3. Jericho VII

**(Note: Due to re-formatting of the story, this chapter's content was replaced with new content and the old content was moved to an earlier chapter. Actual release date for this chapter is November 4, 2007.) **

**That's right, Forbidden Amber has returned to FanFiction, and this story is finally back on-line after over a year and a half!**

**To any of you who remember this story and were waiting for me to update it, all I can say is that I'm deeply sorry for disappearing for so long. I was involved with some complicated personal affairs that lasted _way_ longer than I ever thought they would. I've suddenly found myself with loads of free time on my hands, and with all this talk of Halo 3 buzzing around, I was compelled to recover this story from the dusty dungeons of my computer and continue it. (I will admit, however, I have not ever actually _played_ Halo 3. Whoever decided Halo 3 would be for X-box 360 only was a cruel, sadistic man.)**

**As for the story, I have re-written several parts of the first two chapters to make it flow better, but it's not changed so much that my patrons (if any of you are still there) should need to re-read it. The only two changes of particular note for regulars is that I have added military dates and times to each scene, and I have also changed the child's appointed name to "Ravayne." All other changes have been strictly to make some aspects of the story clearer. On that note, if I overlooked any inconsistencies due to the re-write, please let me know and I'll be sure to fix them.**

**But anyway, on to the story. Enjoy!**

**

* * *

Chapter Three**

**Jericho VII**

**0600 Hours, February 12, 2535 (Military Calendar) / High Charity, Covenant Holy City.**

A chill slid up Ravayne's spine as she sat in her dimly lit classroom, all alone as she waited for Mhar'laknee, her mentor and master, to arrive for her daily lessons. Her meager seven-year-old body was hardly big enough the fill the chair that she was provided, but she was used to the unsuitable furniture that was presented to her. After all, that was all she knew of. She'd never been exposed to anything else of the sort.

She dangled her feet over the chair's sill, annoyed with the fact that her toes still could not touch the ground. She despised being so small. No one else was this small. Mhar'laknee towered above her, over four times her height, just like everyone else in her life. Ravayne had been told dozens of times to ignore her physical differences between herself and the Sangheili and the rest of Covenant, but reminders were always grabbing her attention, one of them being her miniscule height. She was worried she'd get trampled some of the time.

"You'll grow," Mhar'laknee had always said.

"But when, Master?" Ravayne would ask.

He would shake his head. "When you are older."

Ravayne asked lots of questions. Most said she asked too many, that it was dangerous to be so curious, but Mhar'laknee had always encouraged her inquisitive nature. She would ask questions about everything: plants, animals, her food – she always needed to know everything about everything, and she enjoyed learning the answers to her queries as much as Mhar'laknee enjoyed sharing them. It so often astounded Mhar'laknee of the degree of her curiosity; she would sometimes be so overwhelmed with questions that she would have a whole new batch of inquiries in her head before she had the chance to hear the answers to her previous ones.

But Ravayne had never had to ask the question, "Why am I so different?" She had always simply known. She'd grown up with the answer drilled into her brain.

_I was saved._

She never quite understood what it meant. "Saved… why? Why was I saved?" Mhar'laknee always said that she would comprehend this fully when she was older. Just as she'd grow tall when she was older.

Ravayne sat up straighter in her chair, withdrawing her feet from her attempt at stretching to the floor. Mhar'laknee would be angry with her if he found her slouching again. Last time he forced her to sprint twenty laps around the central garden quad. In truth though, she didn't mind the running. She had always liked running. She had always preferred physical exercise to the hours that she spent in a classroom learning mathematics and history, but Mhar'laknee had always insisted that her education was her most vital tool for survival – even more important than her physical condition. Nearly all of her waking hours were spent in the classroom, honing her writing skills, English skills, and logic… She cared little for it; she preferred hands-on experience about her surroundings, but Mhar'laknee forced her to learn. He said she'd thank him later.

If she was allowed even a slight amount of undisciplined behavior, she would have openly objected and refused to participate in Mhar'laknee's time-consuming lessons. But do not mistake Ravayne's thoughts; she loved Mhar'laknee. Just like a father. He _was_ a father to her.Through the fleeting punishments and hours of discipline schooling, there was always still some time for the two to spend time together. They would play games together, train fighting techniques together, and, occasionally, just walk through the Sanctum's gardens together. Ravayne especially loved these periods.

But she was never allowed to leave the San 'Shyuum's Sanctum. Mhar'laknee said that it was dangerous for her; that the Covenant wasn't "ready" for her yet.

"When will they be ready for me?" she would ask.

"When you are older."

The low hum of a door sliding open pulled Ravayne from her daydream. She instantaneously straightened her back even further, staring directly ahead without moving her head. She heard a Sangheili walk through the door, and from his heavy steps, she knew that it was Mhar'laknee, arrived to teach her today's lesson.

"Good morning, Master," she said as he approached her desk. "Shall I retrieve my assignment from yesterday so that we may continue–?"

"No," Mhar'laknee interrupted darkly. "We're not doing coursework today. We will be practicing the Covenant Holy Writs. From memory."

Ravayne nodded, though her insides twisted for a moment. Every three or four cycles they would abandon their normal class-work and study the writings of the ancient philosophers and the San 'Shyuum, and when she didn't have a book to refer to, it was very difficult to reach Mhar'laknee's standards for the material. She hated to have Mhar'laknee disappointed with her.

"Recite the last stanza of the Writ of Holy Desecration," Mhar'laknee commanded.

Ravayne gave a small sigh of relief. She knew this writ very well. Mhar'laknee had her rehearse it very often. She cleared her throat, and, like a well-practiced monologue, said in a poetic voice:

"_Be strengthened by your rage,_

_For their fall is vital to the Quest_

_We must bring their destruction to pass_

_To allow us our ultimate test_

_They are the Abhorred…_

_Redemption is beyond their grasp."_

Mhar'laknee nodded and turned his back to Ravayne, his body engulfed by the shadows of the dim classroom. He shut his eyes and lowered his head. "Repeat the last line."

"Redemption is beyond their grasp," Ravayne said automatically.

"Again. Say it again."

"Redemption is beyond their grasp."

"Louder," he said clearly, his deep voice echoing about the nearly empty room.

"Redemption is beyond their grasp," Ravayne said, stronger this time.

Without warning, Mhar'laknee whirled around and brought his face just a few centimeters from hers, growling and baring his teeth. His hands landed on her desk's surface for support with two loud thumps, and he glared at her through cold eyes of steel. "Louder! Say it like you mean it!"

Ravayne recoiled and brought her hands to her face defensively. He had never done this before. "But Master, I–" she stuttered.

"Do it!" She still did not respond. She cringed against the back of her chair, fear bulging in her eyes. Why was Mhar'laknee doing this? "Now!" he yelled.

She scowled and brought her body away from the back of her chair, anger now integrating with her shock. "_They are the Abhorred! Redemption is beyond their grasp!_" she screamed into his face, remembering all those lessons she had learned about how fear was weakness, and it had no place in a strong heart.

Mhar'laknee slowly pulled his head away from hers and his demeanor instantly changed, a pleased smile appearing on his face. "Good…" he praised, chuckling. "You are learning."

Ravayne gave a weak smile, relieved to have the old Mhar'laknee back.

"So tell me, Ravayne… who are the Abhorred?" he asked, turning around once again to face away from his student.

Ravayne hesitated. She hated saying the name – her stomach would always churn slightly whenever she did. "They are…" she swallowed, "the Humans."

"That's correct," Mhar'laknee said. "And why are _you_ here?"

"_I was saved._" The reply was nearly involuntary.

"Correct again. Who saved you?"

"The Holy Prophet of Truth."

"That's right." Mhar'laknee paused and sighed deeply. He lowered his head and walked forward into the shadows of a corner, his hooves clicking against the classroom tile beneath his feet. Slowly, he turned his head to look back at Ravayne, though his eyes were shrouded. Ravayne could tell that something was a little off about him that day. He finally asked his last question. "And… who are you?"

"I am the saved and delivered," she obediently replied; this, too, also well rehearsed, "the relic of salvation, the light of the dark, the stars of the night, and the eye of the storm. I am Ravayne, golden child of the Enemy."

Ravayne had said those words so many times in her life that they had almost lost all meaning to her. Every time they had a religious coaching class, she'd say those words. Every time they would visit the Holy Prophet of Truth, she'd say those words. Every day of her life, she was reminded of those words by everything that surrounded her every moment of her day, as if they were written in plain script on the walls for everyone to see.

_I am one of them._

It made her angry. She didn't want to be Human. She wanted to be Sangheili, just like Mhar'laknee and Vak'tomee, and live normally back on the Sangheili's home planet without being caged into a Sanctum for years upon years until she was deemed able to be handled by Covenant society. She just wanted to be ordinary, not some kind of religious clairvoyant that was said to lead the Covenant to the dawn of the Great Journey. Was that too much to ask?

"Say the last line of the Writ once more. Just one more time," Mhar'laknee commanded.

Ravayne clenched her teeth. "Redemption is –" her voice faltered for moment – "Redemption is beyond their grasp."

Mhar'laknee grinned. "Good." He walked over to a table behind him, grabbed an object off of its surface and threw it onto her desk and it landed with a thump directly in front of her. She saw that it was a pad of old style paper and a manual calligraphy pen, and her heart immediately sank two inches into her stomach. "Now write it. Write it in Basic, Old Tongue, English… every language that I have taught you, and write until I tell you to stop. This is, after all, your most valuable lesson."

Ravayne sat stunned for a moment. She felt as though she were on the verge of tears, but the cause she could not identify. She blinked several times to keep the tears at bay, for she knew that Mhar'laknee could not understand tears. Sometimes even she couldn't.

"Yes, Master," she said, her voice still strong besides the choke in her throat.

"I expect to see those pages full by the time I get back," he said, heading towards the door. "I'll see you later on today – we've got a fighting techniques class after the evening meal in the training room."

"Yes, Master."

Mhar'laknee hesitated before leaving, his hand resting on the door. He watched her pick up the pen with her five-fingered hand and begin to drag it along the page, writing those words over and over again. He wondered if it pained her to do so. If it did, she never spoke of it, but then, he had never taught her to speak of such feelings. He had only taught her… to do what he taught her.

He shook his head. It was best this way. If she ever found out that she actually didn't have any religious significance, who knows what she would do. She'd probably end up dead, slaughtered by the Covenant that saved her.

He gave a small inward sigh, turned around, and closed the door, locking the child into the classroom.

_It is best this way._

* * *

**0700 Hours, February 12, 2535 (Military Calendar) / Lambda Serpentis System, Jericho VII Orbit.**

"_Save Jericho VII. Save yourselves. The Covenant battleships are heading to its sector now, according to our scout reports. Don't let them take any more away from us."_

If only it were that simple.

_Save Jericho VII._

Captain de Blanc repeated those mission objectives over and over again in his head. Save the planet. Save yourselves. Win against an unbeatable enemy.

The Covenant battleships that were currently mustering in the black horizon began to get larger and larger as he watched through the _Resolute's _fragile titanium-enforced glass viewing window. He knew the Covenant ships would tear through it like tissue paper if he let them get close enough. He had seen it before… he knew the plasma weaponry would burn away the _Resolute's _brittle shell, utterly destroying it, destroying him, destroying Jericho's last chance.

To fight against the Covenant in space was suicide. He could only hope that the Chief and his squad were faring better on Jericho's surface, not that it would ultimately matter much. At the first sign of a losing ship-on-ship battle, Captain de Blanc would pull the Spartans out. _Save yourselves._

The Captain's task seemed simple upon first examination. Keep the Covenant battleships busy long enough for the Spartans to purge the Covenant infantry below. Of course, the Captain had not anticipated being the _only_ UNSC destroyer on the job – their chances of survival were already slim enough even when the two sides were equally gunned. If he were not a prideful man, he would issue the order to extract the Spartans _now_ and run from Jericho's system; he would run as far away as he could go. But that option had been out of the question since Harvest was glassed five years ago.

_Don't let them take any more away from us._

Jericho VII was now one of the last Outer Colony planets. No matter what the humans tried, no matter how hard the humans fought, the Covenant had blown through their distant planets consistently, glassing them all one by one. Cambion II had been the last. Jericho VII would be the next, and another would follow soon after. These aliens were ruthless and merciless. They slaughtered humans by the thousands, slaughtered women and children and entire families all at once… entire planets all at once. There was no reason the Captain could see that would make Jericho VII any different.

Captain de Blanc squinted towards the approaching Covenant ships. Three glistening hulls sparkled like amethysts against a pitch-black milieu. "They're coming in fast," he muttered to himself. "Prepare the thrusters for evasive maneuver," he barked over his shoulder at the crew; his commanding voice piercing the bridge with a sense of urgency. "Our best… our _only_ chance is to keep moving."

"Aye aye, sir," several voices echoed.

The steel floor rattled and a dull rumble resonated through the ship's halls as the _Resolute's _thrusters awakened in anticipation of quick movement. He needed to keep the ship in tact at least long enough to discover just how much of a chance he had. Any possibility for victory they had was slim… but it was all Jericho had left.

The Covenant trio appeared to be moving impossibly fast without shifting into slipspace. He knew that Covenant technology allowed them faster movement than any human ship could achieve, but he had thought he had more time. Captain de Blanc watched through wide eyes as the cruisers speedily came into near-firing range, and decelerated at an unbelievable rate until it appeared that they had stopped moving entirely. They were suddenly so close that he could see clearly the shiny gleam of starlight reflecting off of their heliotrope hulls, their arrogant bull-like bulges of sterns, and the massive plasma guns suspended below the ships' bodies which were now fizzing threateningly. The three ships hovered in a "V" shaped formation just outside of the _Resolute's_ blaster range. Taunting him.

"Move. Move!" the Captain yelled, taking a hold of a nearby structural pillar for support in anticipation of sudden acceleration.

_Resolute's _thrusters whined to life and a spray of fire erupted out of the ship's rear, but the attempt did not prove quick enough. Long lances of purple plasma fire arced from the front-most cruiser's guns, gracefully slicing through space towards the _Resolute's _port side. The impact caused the entire destroyer to shake, knocking most of the bridge's crew to the floor. Captain de Blanc held tight to a niche in the wall and managed to keep himself on his feet, although barely.

"Analysis of damage!" the Captain bellowed. His voice was barely audible over the still-thundering plasma collision.

"Minimal," he heard a technician call as the crew scrambled back to their feet. "Just a long-distance rattler; they can't use their main nukes from this range."

The Captain frowned and his gaze returned to the Covenant cruisers in the window. They had not moved any closer. They were toying with him, boasting their power, taunting him. The Covenant liked to take full advantage of their upper hand, and it was not uncommon for them to play with their victims before blowing them to hell.

"Captain?" a female voice called his attention. He turned to his left to find his communications officer standing before the ship's transmission console, looking at him with a confused look on her face. "We're receiving an incoming transmission," she said. "…from _them_." She pointed to the stationary Covenant vessels.

The Captain stared at her for a moment. No attempts at technological communication by the Covenant had ever been recorded before; were the aliens finally giving an effort to reason? "Accept the message," he ordered curtly, stepping down from his command platform to get a look at the transmission console himself.

The woman deftly hit a few keys on the console to open a frequency channel linked with the Covenant cruiser's foreign identification codes. Captain de Blanc leaned inquisitively over her shoulder as the screen suddenly exploded into a jumble of the English alphabet: small, random blue letters peppered over a black screen. Within one more second, the scramble of letters disappeared and only one message remained to claim the display, accompanied by the drawl of an alien voice that thundered throughout the entire bridge, repeating itself over and over again:

"_Your destruction is the will of the Gods… and we are their instrument."_

The crew halted their work at their stations upon hearing the sound of the voice to gaze anxiously up at the bridge's overhead speakers. The entire ship seemed to freeze and all other sounds became mute; the only thing of existence was that drawling voice, repeating the message, over and over, flooding the communication net and flooding the _Resolute_ with fear to the core.

Captain de Blanc frowned, trying his hardest to ward off the piercing fear that tugged at his heart. "Shut it off," he commanded in a low voice as he made his way back to his authoritative platform. The voice was immediately silenced and his crew looked to him expectantly, as though they couldn't hear the beeping consoles in front of them that screamed in desperate protest of the neglect. "Eyes on your stations," the Captain snapped. He wouldn't let a simple voice steal his ship's morale so easily. "We're not done until we're done."

The crew slowly tore their gaze from their adamant leader. Fingers returned to their keys and attention fell once again to the ailing destroyer's functions, although each careful key stroke was made as though it would be the very last.

"I want our MAC guns up and ready and I want every cannon ready to fire on my command," he said firmly. "Keep the thrusters on their toes; I need immediate distance at my fingertips."

He squinted out the window once more to look towards his enemy, into death's grinning face and they seemed to smirk back at him with conviction, like a self-satisfied child kneeling over a small insect with a sizzling magnifying glass in hand. It was something that humanity had seen far too many times. He was tired of being the insect, but as he stared at the looming Covenant before him, he found himself disturbingly idealess. The plasma turrets that hung beneath the ships' bellies were just itching to drench his destroyer with molten fire and his weak, fragile battleship was entirely unprotected. It was all he could think about, all he could see…

_Wait._ Not _all_ he could see.

The Captain's focus shifted to the half-planet sized spherical globe of white rock that was caught in Jericho's gravitational pull and was currently peeking at him through craterous eyes from behind the Covenant's battleship line. The glowing moon was the perfect obstructive mass in an ocean of nothing but empty space; the perfect shield in the _Resolute's_ most naked moment… They would have to move quickly to reach it, and the chances of being blown to bits before they even got close were gargantuan, but the moon seemed to be their only viable option, save mission abandonment. It was a decision the Captain was compelled to risk.

He took a deep breath. "Get us _over _them," he said loudly so his pilots could hear. "Move quickly, and don't stop. If we move fast enough, they won't be able to hit us as we graze their heads! Drop MAC shells on them as we pass – their shields may hold through but it'll at least give us a moment of confusion to take advantage of. Sooner we go, the better chance we have! Full power to the thrusters!"

The _Resolute_ obediently began to slide skywards through space with a resonant roar of the thrusters. The mass of titanium metal slowly began to gain speed, heading towards the Covenant line with surprising but satisfying vehemence. It took a few moments for the Covenant to react; they were surely not expecting what appeared to be a frontal assault. Captain de Blanc gritted his teeth anxiously as he saw their plasma turrets track the ship, expecting at any moment they would explode in another blast of purple fire – only much larger this time. Shock and perhaps curiosity on the Covenant's part were the only things standing between the _Resolute_ and a potentially debilitating hit.

"Keep accelerating!" he yelled over the low hum of the ship's strained hastening boosters.

The distance between the _Resolute_ and the Covenant battleships diminished at an increasing rate, and soon the UNSC destroyer was moving so quickly that it was apparent they had no intention of stopping to attempt a well-aimed blast. The Captain had his eyes glued to the distance meter. "Ready the MAC guns," he commanded. "And let them fly on my mark."

A small light blinked on the Captain's display a few seconds later; a light that signified offensive readiness. If there was one thing the Captain could rely on, it was the timeliness of his crew. One of the finest examples of UNSC discipline, the _Resolute_ was a near-epitome of communication efficiency as a result of years of strict order and control. However, whether that discipline could possibly compete with the aliens' superior weaponry was highly questionable.

"Three… two…" The number on the distance meter decreased to optimal firing range and began flashing green as the destroyer flew perilously close to the Covenant's well-armored ceiling, "…rain hell!"

Almost instantaneously, the bases of the _Resolute's _lower MAC gun pillars burst in a flash of cackling white electricity as the magnetic tubes were energized. The three adjacent pillars produced a series of enormous explosive shells that were ejected from the ship's stomach, and they flew unerringly towards the front-most hostile cruiser's hull. The consecutive explosions resulted in a blinding shroud of debris and miscellaneous plasma fragments, and the momentary success brought the _Resolute's_ crewmember's hopes back to achieving the unattainable.

Captain de Blanc gripped the wall as he switched back and forth between his holographic display and peering through the window as he tried to get a better view of the damage. He couldn't help but smile to himself – he had caught the Covenant completely by surprise and acted before they could manage evasive maneuvers. "Don't stop moving," he reminded crew as they took a moment to exhale after holding their breaths. "Get us behind that moon!"

The speeding destroyer continued to barrel its way past the disoriented Covenant like a bullet tearing through air, and its nose began to veer sideways slightly as the experienced pilots steered the ship in preparation of slipping around the moon's side. They were moving so quickly that it looked like there was no chance of reprisal against them, but the two remaining Covenant ships proved quick to react to the threat.

The alien battleships promptly swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees to catch the _Resolute_ before it could greatly expand its distance. They both hurled a thick stream of glowing plasma in the UNSC destroyer's general direction, for any kind of well-aimed shot would have eaten up precious seconds in which the _Resolute_ would simply travel even farther. Captain de Blanc watched with horror as the streams of plasma materialized from the distortion of debris and headed straight for his ship's poorly-protected underbelly.

"No, no…" he muttered to himself in desperate denial as he gripped his support beam until his knuckles turned bone-white.

The first lance of plasma missed; it just barely skimmed the _Resolute's_ rear thruster facilities. The Captain sighed in relief, for he knew that if the thrusters were damaged they would have absolutely no chance of escape.

His relief was dreadfully short-lived. The second plasma nuke tore its way towards the ship at an unbelievable rate, and within just seconds of its firing, it collided head-on with the _Resolute's_ already-softened port side as the ship made its turn around the moon. There was a deafening explosion as soon as it hit, and the Captain could vaguely hear in the background the sickening sound of blistering titanium tearing and melting away as a huge portion of the destroyer's outer armor layer was blown into non-existence. A dusty trail of plasma and metallic remains followed in the _Resolute's_ wake; a tail of blood from the bleeding vessel.

The Captain barely managed to steady himself against the wall. "Analysis," he called; his voice hoarse from his dry throat.

There was a moment of silence. All the Captain could hear was the incessant beeping of the desperate bridge controls as a million things had gone wrong all at once. He turned around and looked over his crew to find half of them painstakingly jabbing at their consoles in an effort to quell the screaming machines, and the other half simply staring right back at him. Their eyes were dark.

The silence told him nearly all he needed to know.

Captain de Blanc heaved a great sigh. Slowly, afraid of what he might see, he pressed a button on his own display to reveal the _Resolute's_ current damage status. A small diagram of the ship appeared on the screen, and the Captain had to shut his eyes as he saw that the entire rear port side of the ship was flashing bright red, meaning irreparable injury. One entire _piece_ of his ship was just… missing, burned away.

He looked out the window once again to see the side of Jericho's moon sliding past the hemorrhaging ship. Luckily, it seemed the plasma blast had not been enough to offset a large amount of the _Resolute's_ momentum. They had reached the moon and had continued their slight curve as to make their way around it, using the massive sphere of rock as momentary cover from the Covenant onslaught. Their arrival at the moon proved timely, for the Captain knew that one more hit from the Covenant cruisers would render the _Resolute_ unable to fight back and unable to run.

Regardless of their relative luck, Captain de Blanc knew that this battle was over. They had lost.

He steadied himself against the metal brace around the edge of his console and pinged the communications channel to open an uplink with a shaking hand. A very gravelly voice immediately answered his transmission. "Spartan-117," the deep voice said.

"Chief, we're pulling you out," Captain de Blanc said slowly.

A moment of quiet appeared from the planet-side end. "We're just getting started down here, sir," came the reply, a barely-detectable trace of irritation hidden in the Spartan's voice.

"Yeah, well, things aren't going so well up here," said the Captain as he nervously scratched the back of his head. "Pelican's coming to pick you up. I want you airborne in no more than five minutes."

"Understood, sir."

Captain de Blanc clicked off the uplink. A strong sense of crushing failure was tugging at his insides. As the last major planet composing the Outer Colonies, the destruction of Jericho VII would mark a very significant loss for the UNSC. The loss and failure was, of course, nothing new – but that only seemed to make it all the more painful to endure. Too many had died at the hands of the Covenant, and too many more lived in fear of their own impending demise. Hope and faith were among the most precious elements humanity now sought, for those were emotions that nearly all humans had lost. Captain de Blanc had slowly become one of them. He was afraid.

_Jericho VII is failed, broken, shattered._

Soon humanity would shatter, too.


	4. Devotion

**Chapter 4**

**Devotion**

**1200 Hours, January 5, 2549 (Military Calendar) / High Charity, Covenant Holy City.**

The High Council sat before him. San 'Shyuum, esteemed Sangheili, and even some Jiralhanae all sat in a circle around the edges of the room, and in the very middle, the Prophet of Truth was seated upon his hovering throne. The glint of the amethyst walls shined upon each individual's polished clad and sparkled in each of their condescending eyes. They were skeptic. Mhar'laknee could see it in all of their eyes, that hidden fear, the disguised apprehension that was masked with arrogant superiority. They feared this new concept of a Human walking amongst them. How could it be? Truth had called her a "Saraph": the blade that would reap humanity's demonic blood as punishment for their sins; the most pure divine demonstration of redemption and remuneration. Mhar'laknee was viewed curiously from the Council's extravagant seats; they looked down upon him as though he were some sort of insect in a petri dish. They all wished to see what kind of a Sangheili would support such a seemingly heretical campaign.

But it was Truth's word. They trusted him. Didn't they? He had never led them false before. He was the backbone of the Covenant, the glue that bound all of them together. The Covenant must listen to him, and if he says a Human shall become of them, so it shall be. To go against the San 'Shyuum's decrees would be heresy, punishable by death. And so they trusted him.

"X'rafe Mhar'laknee, honored Executor of our holy Covenant, advocate of the sacred clairvoyant, Ravayne, our most privileged agent…" the Prophet of Truth said, his voice ringing through the room and bringing the Council members to attention. "We have gathered here today to discuss the status of this saved one; this Saraph. The Council has been informed of her existence among us, they know of her religious value, and they know that she is indeed one of us to the core. It is to be decided what her first task to aid the Covenant shall be. Speak, Executor, for you have the Council's ear."

Mhar'laknee raised his head, and nodded to the San 'Shyuum in acknowledgement. "I understand that there is doubt inside each and every one of you," he said. "Perhaps even fear has taken a place in your hearts, trust that has faltered in some way or another, and beliefs shaken. I am here to put your fears to rest. You all have been told about the new prophesy, this new revelation that mentions a mystic youngling that has been put into this universe to be saved from herself and her devilish kin. The San 'Shyuum has endorsed this claim, it carries no folly." Truth nodded. "You should know that she is here, within the boundaries of High Charity, right at this very moment."

A slight murmur echoed through the nervous Council. Mhar'laknee hesitated, let it pass, and soon respectful silence had taken the Council once again. "She knows the Covenant doctrines by heart, she believes every word, and would die for the Great Journey without remorse. She is one of us, a warrior who will fight against her own race in order to hasten the dawn the Great Journey, and she will do so without question, no different from any other Sangheili fighter from our military ranks. She is capable on the battlefield; I have taught her myself. There can be no disbelief about her – so says the holy Prophet of Truth."

Heads turned to their religious leader, and he swiftly straightened his posture and put a confident expression upon his face. They looked him over for a moment, their eyes sweeping over his frame and position, searching for any sign of faltering faith. As always, though, he looked assured and certain, and his poise set some level of calmness into the Council's troubled minds.

"What we have gathered here today to obtain is all of your graces' approval of her embarking on her first task, which would mean fighting alongside our military lines against the Human forces. She is prepared to take on this challenge, and we have heralds ready to deliver the message of her existence to the Covenant public. If any of you disagree with said mission, speak now."

Mhar'laknee's words were followed with a strange apprehensive silence. The words fell like a dare, enticing them all to articulate the heretical doubt harbored in their hearts.

Suddenly and surprisingly, the chieftain of the Jiralhanae stood from his seat and cleared his throat. "Your _Excellency_," he said, his voice sharp. "I do indeed have words to be spoken about this."

"Go ahead, Tartarus," Truth said, waving his hand as a cue.

"I feel I am required to vocalize the thoughts of all the Council members sitting in this room, for none of them seem to have the backbone to speak." The Council remained in accepting silence. "This notion of having a Human fighting alongside our military lines is absolutely preposterous! Forgive me, Holy One, I mean no disrespect, but this is pure heresy! I know that you have endorsed the being yourself, yet this goes against everything this Covenant stands for and what we have been taught. The mixing of Covenant and Human simply… cannot happen!"

There was a loud sudden uproar from the Council at these words, some of them agreeing with Tartarus and some of them protecting their San 'Shyuum's decree. It continued for several moments before Truth held up his hand. "Silence!" he roared, his grand voice overpowering the buzzing arguments. "There shall be order in this Council!"

The bickerers immediately hushed themselves like children being scolded.

"Tartarus, your concerns are appreciated," Truth said, his tone returning to the soft semi-whisper. "But they are misplaced. I, as the face and religious leader of the Covenant, wholly sanction the Saraph and her importance to our advancement. You have been summoned here today to determine her first assignment, not to question her significance."

"The Prophet is, of course, correct," Mhar'laknee interjected. "Ravayne has far too much potential to be halted now. According to the newfound prophesy, she could well bring the Great Journey to pass far earlier than we had originally predicted."

Tartarus grunted. "A waste of time, I say…" he muttered under his breath. "Such a female would serve our Covenant far better by being thrown into the back rooms of the public cantina."

Mhar'laknee narrowed his eyes. "She is a rising manifestation of divine presence," he said in a low voice. "I will not see her used for sexual pleasure."

The Jiralhanae huffed cynically. "I think that perhaps our Executor here simply wishes to keep her all for himself!"

The Sangheili growled deep in his throat, and took several menacing steps forward, barely resisting the temptation to reach for the plasma rifle that he was so accustomed to keeping at his side. He had, of course, disarmed himself in the presence of the commission.

Truth held up a hand. "Enough," he said. "I'll not have your petty squabbles in my Council. The decision is yet to be made, and there shall be no more interruptions. Take a seat, Tartarus."

The Jiralhanae growled slightly as he gazed at the anger-ruffled Sangheili for a moment with contempt. Finally, he took up his seat once again.

"As time waits for no one, I will make this quick," Truth said. "As I'm sure you all are well aware, the most recent contact of our military lines has been the assault of the Human colony they call 'Paris IV.' The majority of the slaughter has already taken place, and the planet now lies mostly in smoldering ruin. It will be subject to glassing soon… but I want every single Human who once resided there to feel the pain of the Covenant's hand before the colony is permanently… removed. I believe that we should send the Saraph to Paris IV's surface so that she may fight alongside Covenant lines and taste Human blood for the first time. Her words will only ever be words, but this would be the true test of devotion."

Yet another quiet murmur crept through the Council, though they all knew that voicing any opposition would be foolish. The San 'Shyuum had already made up his mind.

"Council," the Prophet of Truth addressed them without giving them much time to digest the news, "are there any objections?"

The murmuring stopped immediately and they sat in deathly silence. Tartarus gave a quiet grunt of annoyance at how easily the Council was being manipulated, but he wisely said nothing.

"So be it." Truth cleared his throat and his hovering throne shifted a few feet forward, closer to the stands. "The Saraph shall be sent to Paris IV's surface in just a few days, and the public will be informed of her existence… I trust there will be no _false_ information leaked to our soldiers about the new prophesies," he added, threat veiled in his voice. "This meeting is adjourned."

The echoes of hoofed feet rang throughout the room as the humbled Sangheili, San 'Shyuum, and Jiralhanae began to file out of the surrounding bleachers, still too lost in incredulous thoughts to speak. This new heretical idea had been forced upon them so fast that there simply was nothing to say, nothing to think.

"I must go prepare for my speech," Truth said to Mhar'laknee. "The public surely will have many questions they want answered."

Mhar'laknee nodded and bowed.

"Tend to our Saraph," the San 'Shyuum added before turning to exit. "She is nervous, I'm sure." With that, the hovering chair swiftly glided through the back door of the Council chamber and sealed the Prophet of Truth from sight.

Mhar'laknee began to follow the rest of the Council as they proceeded to file out of the room, but he was suddenly pulled aside by a thickly-haired, massive arm. The Sangheili found himself face-to-face with Tartarus, who seemed to have gone out of his way to be the last to leave.

"You're playing with fire, Executor," the Jiralhanae growled, his deep voice resonating in the nearly empty room. "Any slip up on your part, and you'll burn… and all the Sangheili will pay for your mistake. And I'll be there, watching, when you make that mistake." A sinister grin appeared on his gorilla-like face.

Mhar'laknee met Tartarus' eyes with a resentful glare, but it only seemed to give the Jiralhanae even more satisfaction. Slowly, Tartarus continued his exit of the Council chamber, smirking over his shoulder at the tense Sangheili who was simply too exhausted by stress to reply to his taunt. Mhar'laknee leaned against the cobalt metallic wall, sighing deeply as he watched the smug image of the Jiralhanae get swallowed by the automatic doors.

He had anticipated there would be those who would not support him. To expect otherwise would have been foolish, after all, the Covenant had grown believing a certain set of prophesies that contradicted his new ones. Still, he found such open disrespect to be unsettling, and he could only hope that the public would not share Tartarus' criticism of Ravayne. It could mean danger for her and Mhar'laknee himself.

Thoughts of Ravayne soon roused him from his worry and doubt, and he remembered what the Prophet of Truth had just advised him. The Prophet was right: Ravayne was about to embark on her first journey outside of the Sanctum, and she had seemed a little uneasy when he had last spoken with her that morning. She surely needed him for support.

Mhar'laknee immediately set off for the Sanctum's green gardens. He was certain he would find her there.

* * *

The normal sensation of calm that usually appeared in Mhar'laknee's mind when he entered the Sanctum garden was nowhere to be found that day. Even the soft chirping of the cicada-like insects that concealed themselves in the surrounding green foliage and the gentle trickle of the stream that flowed through the marshy under-path could not dispel the nervousness that had taken over his mind. He followed the stone pathways that lead through the garden, guiding him to bridges over the muddy sections of the overgrown bog, and finally brought him to the considerable drier portion of the garden: a sector where grass grew tall and a thick canopy of treetops warded off the artificial light, Ravayne's favorite place to spend her free time. 

He found her sitting on the sill of one of the footbridges, her fingers playing meticulously in the shallow stream that flowed below. She was dressed in casual wear and her shoulder-length burgundy hair was flowing freely about her shoulders. Mhar'laknee had thought it wise to keep her hair long so that she would blend in with the Human populace when the time came, though it had taken him some time to get used to the abundance of hair that Human women generally bear in contrast with Sangheili's hairless bodies. Now, he saw it as a beautiful thing – everything about her was beautiful to him, from her fair, almost creamy complexion to the way she would yield a slight little instinctual smile that she would try to suppress and substitute for several clicks of her tongue when she was genuinely amused. It was in her that he found traces of humanity to be attractive.

She didn't seem to hear him approach; her mind was probably just as occupied by anxiety as Mhar'laknee's was.

"Ravayne," he addressed her, and she immediately turned to face him.

"Master!" she said in surprise, quickly getting to her feet and rushing to meet him. She brushed away a few locks of hair that had fallen into her face. "How was the Council meeting?"

Mhar'laknee grunted softly. "Fine, just fine." Her inquisitive eyes continued to search him, expecting more. Her desire for information was rarely quenched by a three-word response. "They are… conscious of you," he continued vaguely.

"And my mission? Where are we going?"

"The Human planet called 'Paris IV.' It's already been decimated by the first Covenant lines, but apparently there's still work that needs to be done… I'm sure the Prophets have lined up a series of bloody tasks for you," he muttered in semi-disdain.

She regarded his last statement with indifference. "When do we leave?"

"A few days at the most, plenty of time to get your armor set up." He hesitated, watching her as she processed the information, expecting another barrage of questions. When it didn't come, he spoke once again, his voice low. "It's strange… I've spent the last nineteen years, time enough for you to become an adult, training and preparing you for the slaughter of Human filth… and yet, now, the thought of crimson blood staining your hands is strangely undesirable."

Ravayne clicked her tongue once in mild amusement. "What is this blasphemy coming out of your mouth? I'll do what I must, Master. You know as well as I that the Human demons must die – and I was saved to do so. I serve the Prophets, and I will do so until the end of my days."

Mhar'laknee lowered his head slightly, shamed by his student's degree of loyalty exceeding his own. He immediately regretted voicing his worries. "Ah, don't listen to me," he said. "I'm just a mournful guardian sad to see his child 'leaving the nest,' as the Humans say."

"'Leaving the nest,'" Ravayne repeated; her perfect English pronunciation superior to the Sangheili's own. She looked into his eyes. "I promise I'll not leave forever. Father."

He managed a weak smile. It was rare for her to call him "father," but the unspoken parent-child relationship they harbored was obvious to both of them. "There is still much I have to teach you," Mhar'laknee continued. "As soon as we set out for Paris IV, the Prophet of Truth will have my old military rank as Fieldmaster restored during battle times, and Vak'tomee will be reinstated as a full-time soldier under my command. We will be returning to the battlefield as you enter it."

Ravayne frowned resolutely. "I am ready."

He nodded. "I know. And I will be with you every step of the way."

She smiled at him, and nearly all of the nervousness seemed to have dissipated. The outside world has always been a thing of mystery to her, and although she had many times fantasized about leaving the Sanctum and exploring reality, the idea had also terrified her. To know that Mhar'laknee would always be there for her was such a welcomed reassurance that it was beyond words to describe. Her eyes fell to her own hands, her pale, five-fingered hands, and she reached out to take a hold of his. "I won't let you down. These hands will spill demon blood, Master, as the prophesy predicted."

Mhar'laknee smirked at her slightly. "Come with me. Let's try on your armor."

* * *

**1600 Hours, January 7, 2549 (Military Calendar) / Paris IV Orbit.**

The armor was magnificent.

It was custom-made to perfectly fit Ravayne's body, but its design was so intricate and obscure that she was barely recognizable as Human. In it she stood seven feet tall, nearly the height of most Sangheili, and the armored plates that covered her body bended in such a way that it appeared as though her limbs moved and curved at unnatural angles – angles that made her look as though she were more Sangheili than Human. An ornate helmet adorned her head, one that looked vaguely like a Sangheili's arrow-shaped skull, complete with four jaw-like mandible pieces that protruded from where her human chin was concealed.

The suit itself was mostly pitch-black with streaks of sapphire blue that glistened beautifully as though they truly were veins of gems that had been crafted into the armor. Several glowing spike pieces curved upwards from her shoulders, resembling the regal orange armor that the Covenant Honor Guards proudly wore. This elegant pattern repeated itself by twining around her legs and forming a protective brace close to her torso. The suit was surely the Covenant's most exquisite example of both stunning design and efficiency.

Not only did the armor make Ravayne look almost two feet taller, but her physical strength was increased three-fold with its enhancive muscle-sensors. Her physical force now nearly rivaled any other Sangheili warrior, and when combined with the armor's plasma-powered energy shields, Ravayne had become quite the potent close-combat soldier. The suit even featured the Covenant's most advanced active camouflage technology, which allowed her to become almost invisible for longer than she would probably ever need.

But all of that was secondary for Ravayne. To her, the most important feat the armor presented to her was the ability to abandon the most inescapable aspect of her humanity: her physical appearance.

She sat with her head held high in the speeding Phantom as they headed for Paris IV. Mhar'laknee was seated next to her, equally proud, and he couldn't help but spare the occasional praiseful glance at his adoptive daughter as she wore the glamorous armor. It was that day, the day that Ravayne rode to meet humanity head-on, the day she stood next to Mhar'laknee in Sangheili armor, she had never felt more certain that this was where she belonged. It was that day she truly joined the Covenant ranks.

"We should be arriving on the surface soon," Mhar'laknee informed her, his deep voice in dark harmony with the low hum of the Phantom's machinery. "Vak'tomee awaits us there."

She nodded in acknowledgement and suddenly realized that she was squeezing the handle of her plasma rifle in anxious anticipation. Most of the nervousness had left her – the armor suit had seemed to instill a mysterious level of courage in her heart – and all that was left was a slight excited restlessness. She did not know quite what to expect to find once they landed, nor was she certain how well these Humans could fight. Mhar'laknee had trained her in effective use of every weapon known to Covenant and Human, but even his extraordinary instruction could not fully prepare her for every strategy of the battlefield. Only experience could teach her that.

In addition to her plasma rifle, clipped to her waist was the hilt of a plasma-powered energy sword. Although the swords were commonly used as only symbols of status and ceremony, the most elite guard were trained in the successful uses of these blades in melee combat. The sword had quickly become Ravayne's weapon of choice due to how perfectly it complemented her finely-tuned dexterity and agility, and also because it allowed for a potent close-combat attack even when she was unarmored and therefore lacking physical strength.

The Phantom droned softly in the background as she gazed curiously out the tinted windows. She had only seen the stars through the semi-transparent ceiling of High Charity's sanctum, and even then they had only been visible on rare occasions when the haze of the artificial atmosphere was settled. To see the vast expanse of space through the window and the stars twinkling like diamonds across every horizon was truly magical.

Ravayne continued to watch the everlasting stretch of outer space, and after just a few minutes, an object came into her view. At first it looked like a tiny speck that she was forced to squint to see, but it began to grow into something much larger as they approached – a sphere of gray-green rock and craterous oceans with swirls of odd white wisps that streaked across its surface. It had first looked as though it were merely a marble, so small that Ravayne would be able to simply reach out and take it, but as their Phantom drew nearer, the planet was revealed for its true massive size. She watched in awe as their vessel slowed considerably and began to descend onto the planet's foreign surface.

Mhar'laknee spoke quietly. "Tread softly, Ravayne," he began. "The Covenant may regard you still as an alien, but remember always: the battlefield and its residents belong to the Prophets… and so they belong to you."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Let's hope _they_ remember that."

The Phantom began to rumble and shake as it entered the planet's atmosphere, and a thick cloud layer shrouded the window's view. Ravayne held on to the bottom of her seat with her hands and kept her eyes fixed on the foggy exterior until the cloud covering melted away to reveal the very ravaged ground below. Scarce trees peppered seared dirt; their branches likewise burned and scarred by plasma scoring. It was clear that a great battle had already taken place here, though the conflict had been some time ago – the Covenant had now turned the battlefield into a makeshift camp. Ravayne could see about twenty dome-shaped purple tent structures scattered in a clearing next to where the Phantom was about to land, and her stomach gave a strange tumble as she also saw the Covenant inhabitants patrolling the encampment…

Mhar'laknee and Ravayne stood as the Phantom decelerated to a stop. The purple gravity lift towards the back of the vessel glowed to life and produced a tube of light leading down from the hovering Phantom to the ground fifteen meters below. Mhar'laknee stepped into it and Ravayne followed, clutching their weapons tightly as the lift slowly lowered them to the soil beneath.

Vak'tomee, clad in his polished red armor, stood waiting for them at the bottom of the lift. They were met with his subtle smile, which was then quickly concealed by a very low bow. "Exalted Saraph," he greeted Ravayne, still bowing. "It is a tremendous honor to have you present at my modest encampment." He turned to Mhar'laknee. "And esteemed Executor, it is likewise a humbling honor."

Mhar'laknee nodded to him in traditional formality. "We thank you for the welcome, High Major. The Prophets extend their regards to front line."

Ravayne surveyed her surroundings curiously as the two Sangheili spoke. The dirt beneath her feet was partially clotted with viscous plasma residue and an occasional patch of unidentifiable dried blood. The smell of the place was, of course, in rancid correspondence.

Several damaged Ghosts and a pair of sparking Banshees which looked as though they had seen better days composed a broken shipyard to their left. The vehicles were badly scarred by numerous bullet holes across their once-pristine chassis and now sat with gentle streams of smoke pouring from fractures in their framework. Most of them appeared far too damaged to be repaired, which left Ravayne to only wonder what sort of fray had ripped the machines so thoroughly apart.

Ahead of them, the makeshift tents which appeared to be a made of a fluorescent filmy fabric stood upon a gentle hill a mere twenty meters beyond where Vak'tomee stood. Several guard towers fitted with gravity lifts had been hastily erected at the camp's outskirts, and Ravayne could see a pair of toothy Kig-Yar armed with beam rifles stationed upon each these spires. She shifted slightly in her armor as she spotted she spotted a pair of blue-clad Sangheili standing near a close-by tent, watching her curiously and whispering to each other.

"This camp is a field of victory," Vak'tomee explained, turning to face the campsite and spreading his arms in attempt to illustrate its grandeur. "We slaughtered countless Humans here not one week ago, and its location proved to be a convenient staging point for our final siege upon the last remaining enemy outpost which is a mere thirty minute flight from here… a siege which you shall partake in, Saraph." He took a step forward and motioned for them to follow. "Come with me; I'll debrief you on the situation."

Mhar'laknee and Ravayne followed him as he led them to the outskirts of the camp and began to weave through the dome-shaped tent structures. "We have toiled upon this planet's surface for just a little less than a month, exchanging fire for fire and slowly taking the land from humanity piece by piece. We wanted to be sure to keep their military installations under lockdown so they won't be able to retaliate against our cruisers in space with any significant force when the time finally comes for this planet to be glassed."

Ravayne felt many eyes upon her from the patrolling guard as they walked through the encampment, but she tried her best to keep her own eyes fixed upon the path ahead. Her armor did conceal her human body, but the Sangheili could recognize kin from alien. The entire Covenant knew of her existence and supposedly accepted her religious value, but it seemed she was being greeted with lukewarm acknowledgment.

"Our casualties have been considerable, but less than expected," Vak'tomee continued as they passed a tent housing several injured Sangheili and their medics dressed in gray, "and it is nothing compared to the losses the Humans have endured."

Ravayne watched as a medic applied a medicinal salve to one particular Sangheili's injury: a rather large bullet-wound in his left shoulder. The flesh had been both burned and ripped around the bullet-hole's edges, and Ravayne immediately could identify what Human weapon had caused the abrasion: a highly explosive 12.7x40mm M6D Pistol round. Mhar'laknee had often stressed the primitiveness of Human projectile weaponry, but these pistol rounds could easily pierce unshielded armor and cut straight through to the flesh, and a painful explosion beneath the skin was its encore. This Sangheili was lucky the shot hadn't landed anywhere nearer to his head, or his brains would have surely been blown out of his skull.

Vak'tomee directed them further along the central path and spoke as they walked. "Our business is nearly concluded here, and it has occurred with very few setbacks. Now that you two have arrived, we can arm ourselves in preparation for the finishing blow to this charred planet and hopefully be on our way to the Humans' last outpost first thing tomorrow morning."

"We shall be of service to you however we can, High Major. The successful assault of this planet has been a result of your flawless orchestration; you need only to tell us where we are needed," Mhar'laknee said.

Vak'tomee tilted his head curiously. "But, Excellency, I was told that with your restored rank as Fieldmaster you would be assuming position of command–"

Mhar'laknee interrupted him with an amused twitch of his left mandibles and several clicks of his tongue. "You have executed your attacks with precise planning and brilliant strategy every step of the way, and your results have been equally favorable," Mhar'laknee said with a slight grin. "This planet is yours to claim in the name of the Covenant."

The High Major gazed at his friend for a moment, and then a wide smile appeared on his face. "Thank you, Fieldmaster," he said with a very low bow of gratitude. "I will make certain that you do not regret this decision."

"I'm positive that I won't. Now, is there anything we need to do in preparation for embarking in the morning?" Mhar'laknee asked.

Vak'tomee glanced upwards at the dusky sky. "No, no. There is little left to contend with, for darkness will fall upon this place soon; the day is spent. Phantoms will arrive tomorrow to transport us to our rally point, and from there, our final siege upon the Humans shall begin. I suggest you both get some rest."

They nodded in acknowledgement.

"This way; I'll show you to your quarters." Vak'tomee set off towards a far corner of the camp and they obediently followed, pursued by long shadows from the last rays of evening sun.

Ravayne couldn't shake the feeling of being watched intently as they walked. She had expected a more animated greeting from her fellow Covenant, but she couldn't decide whether the Sangheili's curious silence was beneficial after all. An "animated greeting" had some very intimidating connotations that she was fortunate not to have encountered.

Vak'tomee led them through the hushed surveyors with a business-like brisk walk as though he didn't notice the odd glances his Sangheili were giving him. Or, at least, he was trying not to notice.

"This will be your quarter for the night," the Major said once they reached a particularly large filmy dome. He placed his palm over a sensor next to the door, motioned them inside, and they discovered a surprisingly roomy space within, complete with two bunks on each side. Ravayne noticed a spare plasma rifle sitting at the foot of both beds and a well-fortified chest upon the floor where she presumably could keep her armor safe while she slept. "It's not glamorous, but, well…" he glanced at Mhar'laknee and grinned slightly. "Welcome back to war."

Mhar'laknee returned the grin. "It's good to be back, my friend."

Vak'tomee began to walk back towards the exit. "I'll leave you two to get some rest." He stopped and glanced at Ravayne who was inspecting the plasma rifle on her bedspread. "And Ravayne," he said.

She immediately straightened to attention at the sound of her name.

"Nice armor. You've never looked better," he commented with an amused smirk.

She clicked her tongue with a smile. "Jealous?"

Vak'tomee laughed. "Hardly," he said as he raised his head proudly, boasting his own shining red armor in jest. He then quickly gathered himself and bowed before both of them one last time. "My sincere apologies; I waste your time with banter. I shall leave you to your rest."

"Sleep well, Vak'tomee," Ravayne smiled, waving to him as he turned to make his exit.

The automatic doors slid closed behind him and clicked as they locked. The dark golden shadows of the impending dusk filtered through the slightly-transparent filmy covering of their tent; a telltale omen of a pitch-black night just around the corner. The camp seemed strangely quiet. The hushed Covenant outside continued their patrols per the norm, but tantalizing curiosity and fear kept one eye fixed upon Ravayne's tent at all times.

Mhar'laknee watched Ravayne sit on the edge of her bed silently as she gazed into the flickering sunlight that leaked from the edges of the door. She seemed to be coping with the stress of the adventure quite well, although Mhar'laknee had not taught her to speak openly of emotions like fear and apprehension. All sorts of anxious thoughts could be circling through her mind and her body would never portray it.

"Are you going to sleep, Ravayne?" he asked.

She turned her head towards him, though he was acknowledged only by the lifeless Sangheili-shaped faceplate that concealed her eyes. "I don't know if could sleep well tonight, Master," came her slow reply.

"You will need your strength tomorrow."

She was silent for a moment and the direction of her head returned to door. "Do they fear me?" she finally asked.

Mhar'laknee sat down on the bed next to her. "It's probable. Though you'd have to pin a Sangheili to the floor with an energy sword to his neck to hear him admit it," he added with a chuckle.

"Will it always be like this, Master?"

Mhar'laknee frowned. "We've talked about this before, Ravayne," he said. "I can't make any promises as to what will happen… but I will make a prediction that the entire Covenant will grow to look up to you, respect you, love you, as I have."

She managed a weak smile, but it quickly disappeared. "Why do they doubt the Prophets' word? The prophesy… about me… it's the Prophet of Truth's holy decree. Disbelief borders on heresy."

Mhar'laknee thought carefully as to how to answer her query. Too much information, or too little, could spark doubt in Ravayne's adamant belief in what she had been raised to trust. "Your prophesy is one the Covenant is unfamiliar with. It takes time for a new concept to become universally accepted, especially one that is so… foreign. You were the only one saved from humanity's damnation, but such an occurrence was unforeseen. Once the public learns of your wholehearted loyalty to the Great Journey, you will be welcomed as the Covenant's Saraph."

Ravayne frowned in thought, but Mhar'laknee interrupted her before she could ask any more questions.

"Enough of this," he announced, standing up. "We must sleep, regardless of restless minds."

She nodded absentmindedly and tried to push her thoughts from her mind. Mhar'laknee was right; now was not the time for such questions.

Ravayne was somewhat reluctant to dismantle her armor suit and secure it in her footlocker to prepare for sleep. She felt almost out of place without it, as if she didn't belong in the military's vicinity while in her Human form. That armor was the only thing that so blatantly blurred the lines between humanity and Covenant, the only thing she could hide behind. Even as she climbed into her bunk wearing her gray under-clothing, completely concealed in their tent, hidden from the foot soldiers' eyes, she felt strangely self-conscious and awkward.

Still, as she shifted her thinking to the awaiting battlefield that she would venture to the next day, she remembered that this was where she truly belonged. There could be no doubt about that.

And so, with thoughts of fulfilling her duty to the merciful Covenant in her head, Ravayne forced herself to sleep.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of her name. 

"Ravayne. Ravayne, rise," the deep voice said.

She rolled over in the bunk to discover that she was completely blind in the total darkness that engulfed the tent. Squinting for a moment as her vision adjusted, she managed to make out the silhouette of the tent's open door. It must have been well past midnight, for an eerie silence had manifested itself in momentarily resting camp and she could see a piece of the pitch-black, moonless sky.

The profile of a Sangheili appeared in the shadows before her. "Vak'tomee?" she asked, straining to see his face.

The figure seemed to nod ever so slightly. "Come with me."

"What's wrong? Are we under attack?" she asked urgently as she threw off the covers and immediately reached for her plasma rifle.

Vak'tomee didn't reply. He simply took a few steps backwards and stood in the doorframe, waiting for her.

Ravayne quickly rose to her feet, plasma rifle in hand, and Mhar'laknee stirred from the opposite side of the tent. "Ravayne? What's happening?" The Sangheili was immediately on his feet as well, giving Vak'tomee a questioning look.

"Come with me," the Major repeated, his voice a strange business-like calm.

Vak'tomee turned and exited the tent, followed by the curious Ravayne and Mhar'laknee. They entered the ghostly calm of the night beyond and were met with a slightly shocking chill of the barely-notable breeze. The light fabric of Ravayne's gray attire shifted slightly in the wind, and she was suddenly reminded of her vulnerable, unarmored state. She glanced left and right, half-expecting to see malicious Humans jumping out from the battered foliage.

Vak'tomee led them towards a distant corner of the camp. One isolated tent came into view, nestled between a charred tree and a sagging bush. Two Sangheili guards stood on either side of the tent's door holding carbines across their chests, faces completely stone.

They stopped several paces in front of the tent's entrance. Vak'tomee turned towards both of them and motioned Ravayne inside. "Enter."

She peered at him curiously before obliging to his direction, but she couldn't seem to find any trace of sentiment in his shadowed face. Slowly, squeezing her plasma rifle intuitively, she began to walk towards the tent's open door.

Mhar'laknee started to follow, but he was halted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him to find Vak'tomee holding him back.

"She goes alone."

Mhar'laknee narrowed his eyes and locked them with his friend's for a moment. His calm demeanor seemed to imply that she was in no potential harm, so Mhar'laknee gradually stepped back resignedly and resorted to watching intently as Ravayne's figure disappeared into the tent.

Ravayne discovered a dimly-lit, almost completely bare room inside. One flickering fluorescent lamp hung from the middle of the ceiling, pouring a sickening yellow light, and her stomach jolted as she noticed what was sitting, chained to a chair, in the very center of the room.

_A Human._

He sat solemnly before her, his head bowed in despair. He had clearly been beaten badly and was oozing blood from numerous gashes and plasma burns, and several oddly jutting bones in his arms and legs showed severe fractures. His UNSC uniform, which had once been a jungle-green, was now a dirty gray and spattered with dark patches of his own dried blood. Upon hearing her entrance, his head rose to reveal a black eye and bruised jaw, topped with a momentary expression of terror since he surely expected another beating.

But when he saw Ravayne rather than a malicious Sangheili, the look of fear instantly dissipated.

"Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed, a wide smile exposing two rows of broken and missing teeth. "Thank God, thank God! You – you're here with the auxiliary team, right? They finally came to rescue me!"

She tentatively took several steps closer, examining him carefully. This… this was a Human, a demon, an abomination against the Covenant. Her blood brother.

"Please…" the man continued, his voice a hair-raising whimper. "Please, get me outta here, just get me outta here!" His beg quickly turned into a wretched mixture sobbing and pitiable snivels. "Just make it end, please, take me home…"

Ravayne inched closer until she was standing over him, her eyes sweeping him up and down. His skin, although scarred and bruised, looked like hers – the same pale, creamy texture, and as she leaned slightly around the back of the chair, she saw one of the unmistakable marks of the Human race that she had always felt particularly ashamed of: five fingers on each hand. She absentmindedly reached up to touch her own burgundy hair as she observed the stubble of the military buzz-cut upon his head, noticing that it was clotted with dried blood and sweat.

His breathing rapidly quickened as she lowered herself to a slight kneel, leveling herself with his face. Finally, she looked into his hazel-blue eyes.

Fear. Confusion. Panic. Weakness.

He was the face of humanity as she knew it.

And suddenly, she knew what to do.

She rose to her full height and looked down upon his shaking frame, a new notion of utter disgust taking over her mind. Slowly, she raised her plasma rifle and positioned it a few centimeters in front of his face. The panic in the man's features became even more pronounced, and he immediately began to struggle desperately against the adamant chains that bound him mercilessly to the chair, but his efforts proved fruitless.

Ravayne muttered something to herself.

"_Redemption is beyond their grasp."_

The rifle roared in an explosion of glowing, sizzling plasma as she pulled the trigger. The man's cry of pain short; he was quickly silenced by the relentless plasma fire that burned his skin and seared his flesh, disfiguring him horribly to the point his face was no longer recognizable. The rampant shooting elicited an upsurge of his blood that spattered her clothing and pattered onto the dusty floor. And Ravayne held the trigger. She held the trigger until the frantic jerks of his limbs stopped, until all life had been drained from him. One less Human in the universe. The first on her tally.

Outside, Mhar'laknee felt himself wince upon hearing the sharp whine of plasma fire. He craned his neck in an attempt to get a better view of the tent's interior, but after a few moments, he didn't need to.

He watched, with a terrible mixture of pride and dread, as Ravayne emerged impassively from the shadowed door, her clothing blotted with crimson badges of devotion and her hands completely stained with the red blood of her own kin.

* * *

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**Forbidden Amber**


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